Of Phantoms and Men
by ThePenWieldingRose
Summary: Sequel to "Behind the Trapdoors". Erik Chevalier the Second has suffered...not as his father did, but he suffered nevertheless. Having dealt with rejection, heartache, war, humiliation, and battle scars, he resolves to follow in his father's footsteps and terrorize the Paris Opera House, until an unlikely relationship changes his life...ErikII/OC. HIATUS.
1. The Damned and Broken

**A/N: **For those of you that are new, welcome! For those of you that have read the first story, welcome back! This is the sequel to "_Behind the Trapdoors_", looking at the second son of the Phantom of the Opera. I'm not going to give away any more details, so read on and enjoy! Please don't forget to review and I'll see you all next time! (PS - I don't own "_Phantom of the Opera_", just the OCs).

* * *

**Of Phantoms and Men**

**Chapter One – The Damned and Broken**

_July 10, 1914_

_Paris, France_

_Chevalier Residence, Bois de Milbert_

"War is brewing."

The tea kettle steamed and whistled furiously, alerting the maid of its presence. The woman hurried away, leaving the couple alone in the dining room for the time being. Their dog trotted into the room, plopping down beside his master, panting as the man scratched behind his ear.

"Prophesying again, Suri?" the gentleman asked, cocking his head at his toffee-skinned wife. She had piercing green eyes, the same as her father's, and wore her midnight tresses upon her head in an elegant bun.

"If you wish to call it that, then yes," she smirked. Her smile vanished in an instant as she shook her head. "I'm worried, Gerard. If the war should come through Paris, what will become of Alain-?!"

"There hasn't even been a war proclaimed, and you're already panicking," he grinned at her. He reached for her hand, his eyes becoming somber as he leaned over and kissed her cheek tenderly. "Whatever happens, we shall face it together."

She smiled back weakly, doubt still plaguing her. Her head turned at the sound of the front door opening, two sets of feet pattering across the floor.

"Hello, you two!" a red-headed beauty beamed at them, her opaque eyes large and enchanting. "We just saw Marie at the park!"

"Marie! Marie!" the little boy chanted, running to his mother.

"Hello, my little darling!" Suri cooed, gathering the five-year-old child in her arms. "Was Alain a good boy?"

"An angel," Madeleine giggled. "As always."

Little Alain Chevalier grinned brightly, delighted that his mother should hear nothing but complements about him. He shared his mother's stunning jade eyes and his father's chestnut locks, his skin a light olive tone inherited from his grandfather and mother before him. He giggled as his seven-year-old pet, a mutt they had adopted from the streets which they had named Franc, leapt up and lick his face, a bountiful amount of slobber sticking to his cherub cheeks. "Franc! Don't drool on me!"

The dog barked happily, one brown ear bent while the other beige ear stood straight at attention.

"Gerard, do you want me to fetch Erik?" Madeleine asked, smoothing her skirts out.

"Would you mind?" he nodded. "Supper will be ready shortly, and you're the only person he won't try to…_hug_," he said delicately, not wanting his little boy to hear the term "Punjab" just yet.

"I certainly hope he's not still in that foul mood," Suri frowned. "I worry about him when he gets like that."

Madeleine gave them a rueful smile, shaking her head at them, her curls shaking around her pretty face. They made her look as if she were still fifteen and not twenty, and her dear brother Gerard was certainly finding it difficult to accept that his baby sister was now a grown woman who was starting to see her best friend's brother. "Don't worry…I'll get him to come."

**~OG~**

_Dead_…he felt dead inside.

The week had been filled with nothing but misery for Erik Chevalier the Second, son to the legendary figure most remembered as "_le Fantome de l'Opera_". He never expected for life to be easy – his father's had been anything but, and it was all thanks to the deformity they both shared. A head that contained the resemblance of a skeleton for a face was sure to send anyone's stomach into a tizzy, and Christia de Chagny was, unfortunately, one of those people.

"_Is this what it felt like, Father? Being rejected…despised…"_

He pounded the keys of the organ harder and harder, fury surging through his veins. He could still see it, the memory of what happened stinging just as freshly as the moment it occurred…

* * *

"_Erik, I know it's you," Christia giggled as a tall, thin figure approached her in the dark corridors located towards the rear of the_ Palais Garnier_. "Why don't you come out?"_

"_I can't," he answered lightly, making sure to keep his distance. He wore his black mask, the one that covered his whole face…it had been foolish of him, wandering around without his face-mask, the one that was practically a second skin, but he had wanted to play "Opera Ghost"…he hadn't counted on Christia wandering these parts and catching him._

"_Why not?" she pouted, her bottom lip puckering out in an irresistible way._

_He sucked in a breath, wishing to be near her. He had given her lessons on how to improve her voice over the past few years – as her dear childhood friend, Erik Chevalier – and helped her boost her career – as the mysterious, frightening Phantom – all the while, he harbored an intense desire to have her as his own. Gaspard, the Baron de Castelot-Barbezac, also wanted the_prima donna_. Three years his senior, and an old childhood friend, he was a handsome man with dark hair and stark brown eyes, who wooed Christia constantly. Erik never imagined he could grow to hate someone he knew so well, but he did – it had become competition between the two young men – unspoken, of course, and playful before others, but they both shared dark, competitive glances, knowing full well that this was not a matter of simply earning the young_ Vicomtesse's _attention, but for her heart and hand._

"_Believe me, Christia, it is for the best."_

"_Are you pretending to be that horrid 'Ghost' that haunts this place?" she laughed carelessly, its sound both beautiful and painful as he heard her call him "horrid". "Oh, Erik, you're so strange."_

"_Yes…I suppose I am," he said slowly. He turned away, hoping that would be the last of the conversation, but before he could blink, she was upon him, wrapping her arms around his chest from behind. He froze, his eyes wide with shock. "Ch-Christia-?!"_

"_You never seem to like being touched," she murmured into his back, sending little shivers down his spine. "You're so secretive…why won't you let me in?"_

"_Pandora ought to keep away from the enticing box, don't you think?" he choked, loving the feel of her body against his, though his mind prayed fervently that she might let go before things got worse. He heard her sigh as she removed her arms from him, though she kept one hand upon his back._

"_Erik…you have such a soothing voice…won't you sing something?" she pleaded sweetly._

"_S-Sing something?" he asked, turning his head just so when suddenly, he felt a hand upon his mask and then, it was gone._

_A mortified scream filled the air, and all he could see were those beautiful blue eyes staring at him in wide-eyed terror, the mask clattering to the floor._

"_No…" he whispered, his heart breaking, his stomach dropping, his face twisting in agony._ "NO!" _he roared, snatching the mask and running off into the darkness. He could still hear her screeches, see her pale face as she gaped at him, as though he were some disgusting, monstrous creature that had materialized from a nightmare…_

* * *

The tinkling of bells snapped him out of his flashback, roughly returning him to the present day. Growling, he arose from his seat and stalked out of the mausoleum-like room. He lived down here in his father's underground home most days, loving the privacy it offered to him. He hadn't changed much – he loved the design and style of the time period his parents had lived in, however, he did add a few modern elements, such as electric lights and improving the running water system. The switches proved to be quite handy, though he did enjoy the soft, gentle flickers and muted glow of candlelight. Candlelight was kind to him…so was the darkness…they both enveloped him like a warm, welcoming cocoon that didn't care what he looked like, that wouldn't hurt him…like Christia had…

* * *

_He had locked himself in his room in his home aboveground, not saying a word to his family or the two servants. That was two days ago…he had drowned himself in composing and music and self-loathing poetry…oh, how he wanted to curl up and die!_

"_Go away!" he bellowed at the knocking on his door._

"_Erik, I should like to say something most inappropriate to you for your rotten attitude, but that would offend Christia," Madeleine snapped back at him._

_He paused a moment, processing what she had said. "…Christia?" he asked softly._

"_Yes, she's here to see you, so let her in, your great oaf!" his sister shouted._

_His whole being began to quake as he snatched his skin mask and secured it onto his face. He forced himself to approach the door, his thin fingers unconsciously slicking his hair back. Tucking in his shirt hastily, he unlocked the door, catching sight of the two girls waiting for him on the other side. "Ah…hello," he said awkwardly._

"_Hmph!" Madeleine sniffed contemptuously, stomping off in the opposite direction, leaving the two of them alone._

_Christia was a vision in blue, the dress complimenting her eyes. She wrung her gloved hands together as she stared at her shoes. "…Erik…I…I'm sorry for what I did…" He said nothing, a sinking feeling filling his chest. Something didn't feel right. "I…I just wanted to tell you that…and…and that…" A sob was caught in her throat as she wrenched her glove off of her left hand, exposing an extravagant, diamond-studded ring on her finger. "Gaspard proposed," she said, finally lifting her face to see his. She gave a little sigh of relief – he could only assume it was because his face was covered – and tripped over her words as she fought to explain, "You have to understand, Erik, I really do love him, and he's…he'll take good care of me…I just can't…I can't bear to see-…that is, you and I, we'd never-"_

"_My music," he said without a thread of emotion in his words, feeling a dagger of unyielding shame and heartache stab him through the chest. "I can't stop now…my music is…incomplete…"_

"_Erik-!" she called out, but he slammed the door before she could say anything else. He stumbled over to the piano, his fingers flying over the keys in a frenzy as his mind swirled…he couldn't remember when or how he fell unconscious, but when he opened his eyes, Suri and the maid, Madame Couture, were standing over him and tucking him into his bed._

"_Erik, are you all right?" Suri asked, her green eyes focused on him with motherly concern. "Erik, I'm begging you, say something…!"_

* * *

"Hello, Erik," Madeleine said softly, hopping out of the boat once she arrived at the dock on his side. "I'm surprised you didn't snap at me to leave the minute you stepped out."

He pressed his thin lips together, looking away from his little sister's face.

"I see you're wearing Papa's favorite mask," she noted, seeing the white mask that left only his eyes, mouth and chin exposed. "…Gerry's worried. You're becoming like Papa…at least, the _old_ Papa, the one we never saw or knew…the one Mama would tell us stories about."

Still he said nothing, his mind flooded with memories of his father showing him around the Opera House, playing pranks on the ballerinas and stagehands.

"I know it's hard, Erik…but we're here for you. We love you…"

"I fooled myself, you know," he murmured, facing her at last. "I let myself think that I could find a way to get her to love me…I was wrong, so very wrong…" He covered his face with one hand, shaking his head. "I shall never let myself be fooled again. No one can love this face."

"_I_ love it," she frowned. "Don't _I_ count? Christia can go and throw herself into this lake for all I care – she never was worthy of you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Erik…you'll find the right one when it's time." She gasped as her brother fell to his knees, burying his face into her skirts as he wept. Her heart melted instantly and she embraced him. "Oh Erik, don't cry, not for her," she said softly, running her fingers through his dark hair. He was a grown man, twenty-two years old and in his prime, but he reminded her of a child when he wept, innocent and in need of a shoulder to cry on. "All right, then…let it out…my poor, poor Erik."


	2. Unbridled Restlessness

**Chapter Two – Unbridled Restlessness**

_March, 1915_

"You are _not_ joining the army!" Gerard fumed. "Are you mad, Erik?! Have you lost your mind?!"

Madame Couture prodded at her son, Berlioz, to join her in the kitchen while the family fought out their differences. There was no need for the servants to be involved in matters that were ready to bring the house down. Franc whimpered and cowered under the dining room table, groaning at the escalating argument.

Erik stood his ground, glaring back at his brother with his glowing, fiery eyes. Suri took Alain's hand and coaxed him away, eager to remove him from the volatile scene. She grabbed Madeleine's arm and forced her to move, making her sister-in-law frown. "Suri-!"

"Trust me, this is not going to end well," she shook her head.

Gerard did not wait for them to leave the room. "Have you even thought about what could happen?! You could get killed!"

"I have an uncanny sense that I won't, Gerry," he snickered, watching a vein pop underneath his brother's skin as he taunted him with his despised nickname. "I'm twenty-three years old – there are boys younger than myself that have already gone off! Even Lamar Joubert has left to join the air forces-!"

"Lamar was reckless and foolish, his mother is worried sick for him!" he snapped back. "If anything should happen to him, Madeleine would be crushed!"

Erik snarled at this. It was humiliating, having his friend and sister's beau go off to join the fight while he was stuck here. He lived under Gerard's roof, so his law was absolute – this was the main reason why he often locked himself away in his father's abandoned underground house by the lake. He hated being told what to do, and he was tired of having to hide himself. After the Christia incident, he couldn't bring himself to face her. He didn't join his family for the wedding, and he took great care to avoid seeing them in public. Madeleine told him he was being childish, but he could care less. He came to loathe his childhood friends, preferring the solace that darkness offered him. And then one day, he thought, what could be a better way to be a part of eternal darkness than to face Death itself in the throws of war? He was not the most patriotic, but he knew the government needed men. He was like a caged lion, pacing behind his bonds, eager to break away from the holds of shame and brotherly dominance, never once considering the consequences. He didn't quite know what exactly it was his spirit longed for, but he knew if he remained here another moment longer, he might go mad.

"Adrien and Mary Joubert are petrified for their children – Lamar's gone off to war, Jonathan's been captured in Africa while doing missionary work, and Marie is all they have left. We would be devastated if you-"

"No you wouldn't," Erik hissed. "The world would be better off without me…do you know what it is, Gerard? You're afraid that my face will be seen and I'll disgrace the family!" He glared at his elder brother, seeing how he had shut him up. His anger wavered at the sight of Gerard clutching his heart, his face twisted in pain and hurt.

"…Erik, we'd never be ashamed of you," he said, his voice low as he turned away. "We're your family – we love you. But if you want to throw your life away because of Christia de Castelot-Barbezac and your inferiority complex, then be my guest." He left the room without another word, making Erik feel as worthless as an earthworm.

Erik sat on the lounge, placing his masked face into his hands. He was hurting them…he was hurting everyone, him being here…His fingers massaged the rubbery skin that covered his face, causing his mind to burst with ideas. Yes…he was going to join the army…but first he had to settle some scores, and make some adjustments to his mask.

**~OG~**

_January, 1916_

"Happy New Year," he murmured, placing the two roses into their respective slots. Erik stood before the stone slabs that contained his parents in the walls of the catacombs beneath the _Palais Garnier_, his blood racing as he realized that tonight was the night. He had spent the past months reconciling with those that he was not on good terms with, chiefly Gerard and Christia. It had been difficult, but he had put forth his best efforts. He didn't want his soul to be at unrest if anything should happen once he left. They were on fairly good terms now, thanks to a ton of patience, understanding, and biting his tongue until it was black and blue.

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

He sighed, knowing full well that his sister had followed him as he left the New Year's supper party at the de Chagny home. It was the best time to slip away before anyone could do anything. Turning about, he faced her and shrugged. "I can't stay here any longer, Madeleine. I need to go. I've improved the formula and made a sturdy skin mask, I've already apologized to both Gerard and Christia – many times, mind you – so I've nothing left to do."

"Not even say good-bye?" she asked, her eyes glistening with tears. "Oh, Erik…I don't want you to go! I haven't heard from Lamar in so long…I'm so afraid that…" She buried her face in her hands, accepting his embrace. Placing her cheek upon his shoulder, she sobbed until she could cry no more, enjoying the comforting feel of her brother's fingers in her curly red hair. "…promise me you'll write?"

"…I promise," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. She was the only sibling he had gotten along with extremely well, the only one that almost instantly accepted his monstrous face and kissed him without shuddering. He loved his other siblings, and he knew they felt the same, but there was a unique bond between himself and Madeleine, one that he shared with his parents and sorely missed. Gripping the locket hanging around his neck, he said, "You should keep this-"

"No, Erik. Take Maman's locket with you…to remember us…and them," she insisted, kissing his hands. "I…I hope you find what you're looking for…and come home to us safe and sound."

He nodded, pressing one final kiss to her forehead. "_Adieu, mon petite_."

She felt her tears sliding down her face as he brushed past her, not daring to watch him go. Fear and agony gripped her heart as she listened to his fading footsteps, praying to God that He would keep His hands upon Erik at all times. When at last she was certain he was out of sight, she slowly trudged her away out of the cellars, following the _Rue Scribe_ road until she found the exit. Painstakingly, she made her way back to the de Chagny residence, unsure of how she should tell her brother and sisters that Erik had up and left. Gerard would be furious, and the twins would be in dismay for a long time…

She had just raised her hand to knock on the door when it swung open. Taking a step back, startled, she found herself staring at her dear friend, Marie Joubert. The girl's deep blue eyes were filled with tears as she tackled her friend, crying like a madwoman. "He's gone! He's _gone_!" she wailed, frightening Madeleine.

Cyrille and Gerard appeared by their sides just as quickly, dragging the two girls back inside. "I'll take her," the _Vicomte de Chagny_ nodded, gently holding Marie in his arms as he carried her off towards the study.

"Where have you been? And where's Erik?" Gerard asked, gripping his sister's shoulders tightly.

"I…I went to say good-bye to Erik," she said softly, not daring to look her brother in the eye. She could hear him suck in a breath of shock, his hands clenching for a moment around her. "…what's happened? Why is Marie crying?"

_Comte Chevalier_ cleared his throat, his eyes red from stress and the new tears that were forming. "…Madeleine…perhaps you should sit down."

She could sense the heartache and pain emanating from, her brows furrowing as she wrenched herself free from his hold. "I'm not a child, Gerry! Tell me, what's happened?!"

His sad eyes locked with hers, a chill traveling through her spine as she waited. "…a telegram came in just a few minutes ago…Lamar is…dead."

Her eyes widened at this, her entire being going cold. "No…no, it can't be," she shook her head, seeing her beloved's face before her. No wonder Marie had been frantic…she'd lost her brother… "NO!" she screamed, slamming her fists upon her brother's chest. "NO! It's a lie, a _lie_!" She let Gerard hold her as she sank to her knees, Lamar's face changing into Erik's. "Oh God…Erik…Erik's gone to fight! Bring him back…dear God, bring him back!"

**~OG~**

He missed her already.

He hadn't been gone a fortnight and already he missed his dear little Madeleine. The army was just as disgusting and gruesome as he imagined; in his first few days, his battalion was attacked by a troop of German soldiers. War was made by death and destruction, and he was now a pawn in this little game of bickering powers. He had seen men get shot down in an instant, and choke to death on a new weapon they had created – a terrible, silent gas that was sweet and stealthy, making the men drop like flies. He had been fortunate enough to make it out of the trenches alive from his first ordeal from the poison gas.

As the weeks dragged on into months, he soon found himself becoming weary. He had imagined he would be traveling from France to Germany to fight, maybe even see Italy, but he discovered that this war kept him captive in the trenched. It was ridiculous, all this fighting, but he went on. He was determined to make it through, at least for a year, then give up the fight and go home to his family. He desperately wished to curl up in his father's hidden abode and play his violin or organ, to compose music and give his brother suggestions on productions at the opera…he wished he could see his sister smiling at him.

Just as he had told his brother, he had an uncanny ability of making it out alive of every battle. So uncanny that the survivors of each attack would refer to him as "the Angel of Death", seeing as he survived attacks and killed off just as many men from the opposing team. His unique ways of getting into uncomfortable angles to shoot and dodging grenades was remarkable, but his face was what terrified men from both sides the most. Erik hadn't counted on the glows of explosions at night to cause his durable face to become nearly transparent, making him appear skeletal, his eyes like flaming coals from Hell. He was ruthless on his occasional bouts on the battlefield, and a loner in the trenches.

He hadn't counted on making friends, not when your comrade was chatting with you one moment and then collapsed dead the next…so it shocked him when he met Albert Borde.

Six months into his duration of the Great War, Erik was shooting at a set of men when a pained cry caught his attention. His peripheral vision caught sight of a young boy, only a year younger than he, falling to the ground in agony, clutching his left arm.

"Move out!" one of the men called, motioning frantically with his arms as a bombardment of grenades whistled through the air over the no-man's land and bloomed into fiery, violent flowers. Pieces of earth flew into the trenches, splattering onto the forgotten, abandoned young man.

"Come on, Chevalier!" the sergeant called from his post, making sure the men left. "Let's go!"

There was something in the boy's large, brown eyes that called to him – he could see Madeleine, screaming when she saw a snake at the zoo as a little girl…her horror as she sat alone in the darkness, fearing the nightmares would return…weeping as she skid her knee on the pavement trying to learn how to ride a bicycle…

"_M-Monsieur_?" the boy stammered, his breath shallow as he began to faint from the pain.

"Chevalier!" the sergeant shouted once more, his voice drowned out by the blasts.

"S-Save yourself-!" the boy wept as Erik slung him over his shoulder.

"Dammit all, we _both_ will get out of here alive, even if it's the last good deed I do!" he snarled, slinking and leaping over crates and bodies as though he were a skilled athlete running through an obstacle course. He nearly collided with his superior, hurrying out with the battalion until they had taken refuge behind the lines.

"Move out, they're pushing in!" an officer ordered, shouting at the men to get into the trucks at once. They followed the order blindly, eager to get away. Erik paid them no mind, moving towards the ambulance and forcing his way in.

"Sir!" the nurse, an elderly British woman gasped. "Just what-?"

"The man needs help," Erik gasped for breath, switching his speech into English as he set the boy down. "If you won't look at him, at least let me work!" Having been occasionally injured and trapped in situations with other injured men, Erik had picked up several ways to help a man heal and recuperate, or at the very least, stop the bleeding until they could be operated on. He was adamant that the boy would be checked, or he might as well return to the trenches and die with him.

The nurse, startled by his intensity and determination, called for the driver to move while she set to work helping Erik with the boy. "The bullet's stuck under the shoulder blade…I don't think it's hit the heart, and the muscle will heal in time."

"I need a hot water and bandages," Erik said sternly, snapping his fingers at her. He spoke with such authority that she did exactly as she was told, never daring to say otherwise.

It wasn't for a good twenty minutes until they made it back to the base, the boy fighting for dear life and consciousness. Erik remained by side, speaking softly to him. "What's your name?"

"Albert…Albert…Borde," he coughed, biting his lip as a wave of pain shot through him.

"You're going to be fine…it's just a little way down from here now," Erik reassured him. "Don't fall asleep just yet-"

"_Merci…merci, monsieur_," the man gasped for breath, his blonde hair plastered to his sweaty face. "You-you saved m-me…"

"Shh…I did what had to be done," Erik murmured, wiping the sweat from his brow with a wet cloth. He ignored the nurse's gawking, focusing on the boy. "I've killed more men in six months that I could ever imagine…it's time I start thinking about saving those around me."

"Y-Your name…?" Albert asked, reminding him of a child in dire need of comfort.

"Erik," he answered simply. "I am Erik."


	3. Everyone Needs a Friend

**Chapter Three – Everyone Needs a Friend**

_May, 1917_

"Hey, Daddy Longlegs, scoot it, would ya?"

Erik scribbled his thoughts down so that he might send his letter to his dear little sister before returning to his post. It had been over a year since he left home, and he was still making rounds in the same squalor of the trenches he had seen since he first arrived. The Americans were in the fight now, though their President had sent few and far in between, and he found them most uncouth. They were a cocky sort, though he (hated to admit) that they could be quite clever when the going got tough.

"Hey! I said move it!"

Erik felt a large hand grab his shoulder and shove him violently, sending his letter flying into the muck, his face colliding with the bench. His head jerked up, his sunken eyes glaring hatefully at the fool who had dared to treat him in such an undignified manner. He was a large man, just a few years his junior, but he had quite a bit of muscle to make up for his age. His cold grey eyes glared at him, blinking in bewilderment as Erik hissed at him. "Listen, Frenchy-"

"Hey! Georgio!"

The large man grimaced, rolling his eyes as another figure joined them. Erik wanted to spit at the man. _"American! The self-righteous pig! I ought to Punjab him for-!"_

"Leave him alone, got me?" Erik's brows furrowed as he saw the second man join them. He, too, was American, his tanned face sprinkled generously with freckles. His red hair managed to stick out from beneath his helmet, his chocolate colored eyes dark and serious as he approached the offender. He must have been his age, but there was something about his youthful face that made him appear as young as eighteen.

"Eddie Stubenbaucker," the man called 'Georgio' sneered. "I didn't expect to see you in this battalion."

"Well, you happen to have a good streak of luck – here I am," Eddie answered contemptuously. "It's no wonder the French don't like us, Georgio. Not with you knockin' 'em off their rears."

"Why don't you go and-!"

"Remember what happened back at Piper's Creek?" Eddie asked smoothly, pulling out a pocketknife from his jacket.

'Georgio's' eyes widened as he unconsciously took a step back. "Y-You wouldn't-!"

"Wanna bet?" Eddie grinned mischievously. "Why don't I show your new friend here?"

"GAH!" he yelped, tripping over his own shoes and shoving past Albert Borde, returning with both his and Erik's rations.

"Erik? What's going on?" Albert asked, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he shrugged. He blinked in bewilderment as the American boy knelt down and carefully took the letter out of the dirt, gently brushing the mud and particles off before handing it over to Erik. "…thank you," Erik said in English, taking the letter back gingerly.

"You're welcome," the young man replied with a genuine smile. "Don't mind him, he gives Americans a bad name…you both French?"

"_Oui_," Albert nodded. He knew sufficient English to understand it being spoken, but he lacked the skills to speak it. Erik, meanwhile, could understand and speak it, but then again, it seemed to Albert that Erik could do just about anything. During Christmas, he managed to make a whole crate of supplies appear out of nowhere, stunning everyone in their tent. He had a sneaking suspicion that the man had snuck off to German lines, but he kept his lips sealed.

"Dandy. I'm from Maryland," Eddie said, tipping his hat to them. "Edward Stubenbaucker, Eddie to my friends." He offered his hand to Erik, and for a split second, he reminded him of a lonely, nervous child, lost in the schoolyard and fighting to survive.

Erik gripped his hand, shaking it firmly. "Erik Chevalier the Second. This is Albert Borde, he can understand you but he's still learning to speak English."

"Ah, I see," he grinned, shaking hands with Albert. "I'm rusty with French, so maybe we can teach one another."

Albert nodded, delighted with the arrangement. He began to speak excitedly, motioning towards a booth that had been set up several feet away. Eddie raised his eyebrow at him, his eyes darting to Erik. "Um…a little help?"

Erik couldn't hold back his mirth, chuckling at the two men. "He's says go and get your dinner. We'll be waiting here so you can tell us about Maryland he can learn English."

"Oh…I knew that," Eddie grinned weakly.

Erik laughed for the first time in weeks, shaking is head at the newcomer. Outlooks on whether the war was worth their while dragged the men down when the bullets, grenades, and gas weren't. He even found himself sinking into deep, dark states of depression as he stared out across the no-man's land, working with his fellow Frenchmen to guard their country. This cheerful, ignorant American sparked hope from within, however…he couldn't explain it, but he felt that, perhaps, things would get better at last…

**~OG~**

"It's a letter! From Erik!" Madeleine screamed in glee, rushing into the house as she waved an envelope in the air.

"Stop that infernal shouting, we're not deaf!" Gerard scolded her, though he abandoned everything and picked up his son from the floor, hurrying to his sister's side as she sat down in her chair before the hearth. They had longs since gathered their belongings and moved out to their cottage in the country, just on the outskirts of Rouen. Many of their family and friends had gone off to their own homes in the area, abandoning Paris as the Germans continued to push forward.

"He wrote back?!" Suri gasped, hurrying out to join them as Franc trailed behind.

"Maman, it's Mademoiselle Madeleine," the butler Berlioz said to Madame Couture, taking her hand and helping her out to join the family in the parlor.

"Uncle Erik wrote?" seven-year-old Alain asked, cocking his head at the paper. "What did he say?"

Ripping the envelope open, Madeleine withdrew the soiled paper from its hold and unfolded it, reading the message aloud.

"_Dearest Madeleine,_

_I write you this letter in good health (as good as it gets out here at any rate, it's still rather repulsive, but I digress). My battalion is still squatting in the muck - I'm afraid I can't say where._

_I miss you. I've said it many times in each of my letters,_mon petite_, but I miss you. I miss everyone, but I miss you most. I am in good company, though. I find that these men my only anchor to sanity and remaining aware that I am a member of the quickly diminishing 'human race'. You would not believe the horrors this war has to offer, and I shall not tell you of them._

_I should like to introduce you to the men I have decided to call 'companions', and perhaps even 'friends'. You remember the young gentleman known as Albert Borde? He's still here, he follows me obediently, rather reminds me of Franc. He's a gentle soul, and I pity him for having to join this monstrous, never-ending battle. The newest gentleman joining us is a charming American lad about my years – his name is Eddie Stubenbaucker. He's tough, but he's not a carousing fool like some of these idiots, and he manages to make me and Albert laugh when we most need it. Perhaps if we all survive this ordeal, I shall convince them to come home with me and show them to you all…if Gerry accepts me back, of course. I can't fault him for being angry, but I do hope he knows that I finally understand what he was trying to tell me so long ago. War is painful – it's scarring, both mentally and physically, and it made my stomach twist each time a soul was claimed. Now, I've become so accustomed to it that it frightens me. That is why I thank God for these two companions – they remind me of what compassion and life are._

_Please give my love to Gerry, Suri, Alain, the Coutures, Franc, our dear sisters, and all those who still remember and care about me. I will write to you once more when I manage to find more paper._

_I remain,_mon cher_, your obedient brother,_

_O.G."_

"Why does he call himself 'Oh-Gee'?" Alain asked, raising an eyebrow at his family.

"It's a little joke, that's all," Suri said quickly, brushing it off. "Poor Erik..."

"See if you can send him a letter back," he answered, clutching his son to his chest. "Ask him to come home."

Madeleine nodded, clutching the note to her chest. She closed her eyes and prayed silently, hoping to God that all would be well. _"Please keep watching over him and his friends, Lord…I can't bear to lose them the way I lost Lamar…please, take care of them…!"_

**~OG~**

_July, 1917_

"FALL BACK!" the commander shouted to his men. "FALL B-Ack!" He doubled over, the bullet penetrating his stomach as fell forward, blood spurting out of his mouth.

"He's dead!" shouted one of the soldiers. "Fall back!"

Soldiers alike scattered through the trenches as the small battalion was driven back by approaching forces, shot down and exploding to pieces, one by one.

"This way!" Erik called, motioning to Eddie and Albert as he slid into a crevice and reloaded his bayonet.

"The main group's run off – we're stuck," Albert said, his eyes darting all over the area, suspicious that they could be spied on. Pieces of the trench kept slipping down, and he could see the heads of a few reckless Germans cautiously tip-toeing their way across no-man's land, a handful of them slowly getting closer.

"We'll have to wait 'til they get close and shoot, it the only option for now," Eddie said, working rapidly to reload his weapon. "What I wouldn't give for a machine gun now!" A blast made them wince, the cry of another dying man filling the air. "Looks like he found the land mine," grimaced Eddie. "Erik, you're good with tracking – think you can guide us out far enough to find the rest of the-?"

"_Grenade_!" Albert cried in nearly perfect English.

Erik and Eddie's eyes shot up to the sky in search of the flying projectile, a sudden burst sent them falling flat onto their back, each one landing one the other, a human domino effect. As a cloud of smoke and debris went up, they moaned and coughed, fighting to sit up.

"I…I tried to warn you…" Albert choked, wiping his face clean of the rubble and mud.

"Ugh…what a blast," Eddie grimaced, feeling his back ache in pain. They all wriggled in the trench, fighting to stand up on their own two feet, disoriented from the explosion. As he wiped the back of his hand over his brow, his eyes furrowed at Albert. "Albert? What's wrong?" The poor boy was pale as a sheet, his eyes large and glued to Erik's face. Frowning in confusion, Eddie reached over and touched Erik's shoulder, recoiling when the man turned to him. "Sweet Lord!" gasped Eddie, scooting back at the sight of his friend.

Erik felt as if his gut had been removed in the most violent manner possible. He could feel the grime and dust particles on his skin, feeling strange without his mask. All this time, he had been careful to never been seen without it off…and a blast from a stupid grenade had blown his second skin clean off, tearing the chin and forehead of the rubbery face and leaving him exposed. He stared back, mortified, petrified…and furious. Grinding his teeth, he shoved past Eddie and gripped his weapon. His eyes stinging with shameful tears, he recklessly entered the destroyed trench, slinking into the shadows of the evening.

"Erik!" he heard Eddie shout. "Erik-!"

He ignored his cries, yanking his jacket off so that he could cover his head. He checked the no-man's land once more, catching sight of two figures aimed for him. _"Let them shoot…what does it matter?"_ He wanted to find a deep, dark hole and fling himself inside so he might die. Things were fine…he was happy with his friends…and one little blast destroyed it all within seconds.

Raising his gun, he moved his finger to the trigger when a hand yanked him down.

"Are you daft?!" Eddie hissed, motioning for Albert to help him crawl along the filthy floor with him. "Hurry, before they get here, we have a chance!"

"Wh-What?" Erik stammered.

"They're getting closer!" Albert gasped. "Erik, don't you have that 'Punjab string' with you?"

"B-But…my face-"

"I don't give a damn what you look like, we're all going to look like them-" Eddie jerked his head at the corpse they wriggled by. "If we don't hurry up. You're our friend, and we're not leaving you."

"If we make it out of here alive, do explain what you were doing wearing a snake's skin," Albert noted.

Erik nodded, wishing the circumstances would allow him to laugh. "If we get out of here alive, remind me to thank you."

"We _will_ get out alive," Eddie insisted, wincing as he heard another scream followed by an explosion. The three men covered their heads, hiding their faces from the debris. A hard "plop" soon followed, and Albert gave a scream of terror. Erik and Eddie raised their heads and grimaced, wanting to retch at the sight of the victim's arm landing beside unsuspecting Albert. "We need to move this along-!"

"AAGH!"

Albert collapsed face down, his arms gripping his leg as his face contorted in pain. Erik twisted his body, catching sight of the last German soldier nearing their barrier lined with wires and even more explosives. His face twisted into a snarl as he aimed his gun and shot, watching the body fall to the ground.

"Nice one," Eddie muttered, helping Albert to his feet. Daringly, he peeped over the crumbling side, checking the enemy lines. "They're stopping, for now. We need to move while we can." He motioned for Erik to follow him, stopping as he came upon another corpse. "Erik, what're you-? Oh." He watched as Erik looted the body of a roll of gauze, expertly covering his face with the bandages. "What'll they think when they see you back at the base?"

"It doesn't matter," Erik said, hurrying to help Eddie carry their fallen friend. "Where are you hurt?"

"My thigh," Albert gasped for breath. "It's...in my...thigh..."

"Hang in there, buddy," Eddie said gently, his eyes constantly trailing back to the open, smoking land. "We've got to hurry up back to the base."

"We'll make it," Erik vowed, gripping Albert's arm as he slung it over his shoulders. "I'll make sure of it."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm predicting maybe two more chapters of this and we'll finally get to the part that everyone is looking for - Erik II meeting his potential love interest ;) Thanks for hanging in there with me and please let me know what you think! I'm trying really hard to give Erik II his own personality while still sharing a lot of the same qualities as his dad. A big thanks to **Filhound** for correcting my historical inaccuracies! I've had to make some revisions, so if you're reading this and remember it was different, it's to have a historically accurate fanfic that I'm sure will be much better after these edits :) If you have any suggestions or ideas, please let me know. Thanks again everyone, see you next time!


	4. No Man Left Behind

**A/N: **Thank you to **Filhound**, my editor/historian expert ;) I've made some major revisions so please be sure to go back and re-read the past two chapters if you haven't already. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you thought of it! See you next time!

* * *

**Chapter Four – No Man Left Behind**

"Your father had the same problem, huh?" Eddie asked as the outskirts of the camp came into view. The campfire glow in the dark, starry evening guided them back, a beacon in the dying twilight.

"Yes, since birth...none of my siblings inherited his _peculiar_ face...except me." Erik glanced over at Albert, wheezing as he fought through the pain. "Just a few more steps," he murmured reassuringly.

"I'm...all right," he grimaced, struggling to smile at his friends.

"Second he's been shot, too," Eddie remarked, remembering the story of how the two Frenchmen met. "You're lucky it wasn't your heart. That German was close enough to shoot our heads off."

"Indeed," Erik nodded, gripping his arm. "But he didn't."

The three of them were silent for a time, the only sounds being their feet crunching on the dried grass and Albert's gasps of agony.

"Say, Erik," Eddie started, biting his lip sheepishly. "I'm sorry...about what happened back at the trenches. I mean-"

"It's all right," Erik sighed, waving the matter aside with his thin free hand. "It's quite normal for you to want an explanation…I'm a little surprised you didn't run the opposite direction from me."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Eddie rolled his eyes, earning a glare from Erik. "Yes, it was a surprise to see you, but you're really not so ugly, Erik. Besides, it's what's inside that matters – you're intelligent, generous, and thoughtful, and you're our friend. That's all that counts, really, when you think about it." Albert nodded, a weak smile appearing on his face.

Erik felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he released a deep, grateful sigh. There _was_ hope after all…perhaps if these men accepted him, he might find himself a lady who could understand…

"HEY!" Eddie shouted to the battalion, grinning at the men gaped in awe at seeing the four of them walking back alive. "Save some supper for us!"

The young men at the base took out their torches, switching them on and directing the beams at the four approaching figures. "It's Stubenbaucker!" one of them exclaimed, the news spreading like wildfire throughout the camp.

"Just a little further," Erik encouraged them, seeing how they stumbled and tripped, exhausted from the long trek back to the camp base. "We're almost-"

The sharp "bang" of a bayonet filled the air as Eddie's back arched and a strangled cry of pain escaped him.

"_Eddie_!" Erik cried. In a fast flurry of movements, he held onto Albert - who gripped him tightly around the neck - and stretched out his free arm, catching Eddie as his friend fell backwards. His eyes widened at the sight of blood seeping through the young man's jacket, just below the ribcage. "Eddie, hang on-!"

A barrage of ammunition followed, causing the three conscious friends to look back and see a troop of German soldiers attacking the camp.

"Hold on!" Erik ordered them, placing Stubenbaucker and Borde over his shoulders and lugging him across the field.

"Hurry up!" a solider called to them. "We're getting out – head for the trucks!"

"Chevalier! Is that you?!" he heard his commander call out. The man was gawking at him - he had shown incredible strength in some dire situations, and was always nimble when scurrying about the trenches, but never had he seen such strength and speed combined.

"The ambulance, sir!" Erik pleaded. "Where is it?!"

Stunned to silence, the commander pointed the way out for him, watching him take off before leaving shortly afterwards. Already Erik could see the ambulance starting the engine, making his stomach twist. Arriving at the vehicle, he shouted at the nurses to, help him, allowing him to hand his injured comrades over to women and doctor before he pulled out his thin lasso from his belt.

"Erik, what-?!" Albert asked, reaching for the man.

"Go," Erik said firmly, running back towards the battle. "There are others that need help!"

"ERIK!" he heard the boy cry out but he dared not look back. Gritting his teeth in determination, he resolved to stay in the camp until every last soldier left. He had killed and taken countless lives, he had run away from home, he had wish ill upon those who took what he wanted…the very least he could do was defend those who fought with him and made it through this far. The Frenchmen that left their loved ones and homes behind, the Americans who volunteered to join a war they didn't have to fight…he would avenge them. He directed those who straggled behind and watched them leave. Grabbing a bayonet, he hid behind the cook's tents, shooting down the opposing forces until the last of the trucks pulled out. Sticking to the shadows, he waited until the enemy got closer.

Erik did not hate the Germans – he had known some back in the _Garnier_, some that were patrons, some visitors, a few that were performers. They were men, just like the French, the British, the Italians, and the Americans…but they were the enemy. They had shot Eddie, and he was not going to allow them to get any closer to his companions. He waited until they drew nearer, swung out his arm, and tossing his nearly invisible magical lasso. With a firm yank, he brought his first victim down, choking instantly on the thread-like rope. He yanked the body towards him as the men gaped in awe at the moving corpse, giving Erik an idea. With a quick movement of his hand, he relieved himself of the bandages, stuffing them into his back pocket. Beside him stood a crate of supplies, one of which contained some thick, rich red sauce that the cook was to use. Taking it, he smeared it all over his clothes and splattered some onto his face before throwing flour onto his already pale face.

"What happened to Conrad?!" he heard one of the men shout in their German tongue.

"He fell to the ground dead and vanished into the shadows! Do you think they have that poison gas?!" another man asked.

Snatching the match box inside the crate, he turned to the tent he hid behind and let the little flame lick the cloth. Almost instantly, the fire grew, consuming the entire structure.

"Holy Mother!" one of the soldiers cried, leaping back from the display. "What happened?!"

Holding the fresh corpse before him, Erik gracefully stepped out from his hiding place, his hand placed firmly over the dead man's throat. As the men gasped and pointed, he slowly lowered the man's body down until his face was revealed, sharing a wicked, frightening grin that glowed in the firelight.

"It's the Devil!" screamed one of the younger boys, pointing at Erik's face.

"_Ja_," Erik said, speaking their tongue almost flawlessly. "I am the Red Death…do not touch me!" He released a cackle for good measure, sending many of the frightened men running. One of them pulled out his gun, yelping and jumping back as Erik's Punjab thread shot through the air and caught hold of the bayonet, sending it flying in the opposite direction. He laughed diabolically once more, dropping the body of their fallen comrade before them, before slinking away behind the burning tent. Thinking fast, he grabbed the flask of brandy in the crate and tossed it into the fire, covering his head at the bottle burst and the flames grew higher and higher.

"It's haunted here! Let's go!" the men shouted, running in the opposite direction. So it was that they left Erik alone, allowing him to steal forth towards one of the supply trucks and drive off under the cover of night as the fire raged on. "_I need to find the others,"_ he told himself, his eyes scanning the land as he moved stealthily through the dark. _"If anyone finds me, I shall surely be doomed on my own."_

**~OG~**

"Look! It's Chevalier!" the cry went out, earning the attention of the commander once they had regrouped. They were forced to join another smaller regiment, combining their forces for the time being. The barracks were full of shouts now as a supply truck drove in, a man covered in bandages stepping out of the truck. The commander stepped through the crowd, the men parting to form a path for him as he drew near Erik. "Chevalier!" he barked, earning a salute from the young man. "What you did back there was stupid!" Erik said nothing, his eyes locked with his superior's. There was something feral in those unusual eyes, something that showed the commander that he was not going to back down. "Stupid...but impressive."

"Sir." Erik showed no sign of being pleased from the small comment.

"Why don't you go and see the doctor about your face?" the commander started.

"Sir," Erik interrupted him. "With all due respect, my face is..._fine_." He stiffened a bit, though his superior said nothing. "All I wish to know is if Privates Borde and Stubenbaucker are well."

"The doctor's seeing them," the man nodded. "Borde will be back in shape, God willing, by the end of the month. Stubenbaucker shall need an extended time...he's extremely fortunate that the bullet didn't hit a vital organ, but he is no shape to fight for the time being...I suppose you could visit them later." Seeing how Erik remained perfectly still, he cleared his throat and saluted. "That will be all."

"Sir." Erik repeated the single word, not wanting to give away his utter horror at not having his mask, as well as his deep concern for his two friends. With his permission to leave, he marched away to the barracks, releasing a sigh of relief. _"Alive...they're alive!"_

**~OG~**

_August, 1917_

"Package for you, Chevalier," one of the men announced, tossing him the rectangular packet.

Erik caught it easily with one hand, entering his designated barrack where he was allowed to stay as he helped Albert recuperate from his wound. "What is it?" his friend asked as he tore the paper off.

Erik chuckled, opening the box and showing a rubbery face that looked like the last skin he had worn. "My face just came in the mail."

Albert laughed heartily, leaning on his crutches for support. He watched as Erik shut the door of the barrack and undid the bandages, placing the mask over his face and tucking it in securely with his fingers until he was satisfied. "No one will ever notice!"

"Good," Erik grinned. "It's been hard enough avoiding the doctors these past two weeks. The burnt face story can only work for so long." He took out the letter included in the pack, along with sweets sent from his little sister. Smiling, he tucked them away into his bag and offered one of the goodies to Albert, who gratefully accepted. "Let's see how Eddie's holding up."

Opening the door, he assisted Albert out and walked slowly so that his injured friend might keep up. He had enjoyed his temporary period of rest, grateful that the commander allowed him to stay once he saw how well Albert was doing under his guidance. His time would be up shortly, however. He knew he would be sent back to the battlefield any day now. Albert had only recently just started using crutches as was still rather clumsy, but he would manage. Eddie had also been doing well, fighting through the recovery procedure that the doctors predicted another six weeks or so until he could get up and return to the trenches. He had been offered a position for a liaison as of late, and though he protested, Erik suggested that perhaps it might be best. Still, he remained in his bed, stubbornly insisting on returning with his comrades.

"Erik!" Eddie exclaimed, stunned to see his face exposed. "What happened?"

"My face came in the mail," Erik winked, sending Eddie into such a laughing fit that he grimaced and cried "uncle". The nurse cast them a dirty look before continuing on her merry way, leaving the three friends in silence. "How are you?"

"I'm...alive," he shrugged. "Damn, it hurts to laugh!"

"Then don't," Erik challenged him with a smirk. His smile disappeared as he cleared his throat and said, "I have a feeling I'll be getting back to the trenches soon...I'm not sure when, but I don't think they'll let me stay here on holiday much longer."

Eddie nodded, his smile fading. "Well...I guess Al will be seeing you before I do. Just be careful, got me?"

The two Frenchmen nodded to their American friend, silence falling over them once more. Hating the awkward stillness, Erik offered the box of sweets to his bedridden friend. "Chocolate cookies?"

"Thanks...Mmh! Your sister made 'em?" Eddie asked, chewing contentedly on the crunchy treats.

"Yes...Madeleine," Erik nodded, smiling as he imagined her face. "Dear, sweet Madeleine...perhaps you all can come with me to see my family once this war is over."

"Sounds good to me," Eddie grinned. Albert nodded, taking another cookie from Erik. "Sounds like a mighty fine plan."

**~OG~**

_May, 1918_

Reloading his gun, Erik waited quietly in the trenches for something - anything to happen. Albert rested at his side, oblivious to the torment running through Erik's mind. He was ready to go mad from being in this nightmarish hell, wondering if anything would stop this war. Trench fever ran rampant and rats infested the trenches. They had managed to survive this long without dying or falling prey to disease, but he didn't know how much longer they could take it. He missed Eddie - he'd finally consented to being a liaison, and he wrote as often as he could to stay in contact with Erik and Albert, but things weren't the same without Eddie's jests and optimistic hopes, his laughter forcing them to join in his mirth.

A sudden blast from the opposite side caused Erik to jump to his feet, startling Albert from his slumber.

"They're starting!" one man called out.

At once, the trench came alive with the men who were still able and lively. Erik helped Albert to his feet, handing him his weapon and taking position. He tried of this little game - shoot and blast them, then they return the favor, men dropping like flies...it was sickening. Early on, he swore he would never willingly kill another soul if he made it out of this blasted war alive. He couldn't fathom how so many years before his father had taken some small pleasure in killing people. He understood taking vengeance on tormentors, but innocents under the Shah's control...? _"I will never kill anyone after this, not even my own tormentors,"_ he vowed. _"Nev-!"_

"Erik!" he heard Albert cry out as he fell backwards, a sharp pain shooting through his chest. He lazily gripped his mother's locket, hanging around his neck, as he felt his body collide onto the ground and his vision warped into darkness.


	5. The Road to Home

**A/N: **Another big thank you to **Filhound** :) Here's a nice long chapter to enjoy! Please don't forget to review!

PS - if you haven't re-read chapters 3 and 4, I suggest you do, otherwise you'll be very confused since I updated and tweaked them before this chapter was even written.

* * *

**Chapter Five – The Road to Home**

Erik was falling into a dark abyss, surrounded by sensations of fear, loneliness, and despair. There was a weight in his chest, constricting him, making him gasp for air though no relief came to him. There was blood everywhere, faces contorted in agony and body blown to bits…there was cruel laughter, jeers and stares, he couldn't escape them.

"_Erik!"_ a little voice cried to him, making his brows furrow as he recognized the owner of the comforting, small voice.

"_Madeleine…?"_ he blinked, reaching out into the darkness, a little white light glistening against the blackness around him.

"_Erik! Erik, come home!"_ another person called out, a second light bursting to life.

"_Gerard…"_

"_C'mon, Erik! Don't die on me now!"_

"_Eddie…"_

"_Erik, darling, it's not time."_

His eyelids flew open, two familiar faces coming into view. _"Mother…Father?"_

"_Dear little Erik,"_ Angelique cooed, bending down to kiss his cold brow. _"We're watching over you, always."_

"_It's not your time yet,"_ Erik Chevalier the Elder said with a small smile on his ghastly face, though there was something about the soft starlight that made his skeletal countenance appear…normal. _"Deep down, I know that you realize that same – your time here is not over. Fight this pain, my son – fight the darkness…and you will be well."_

"_We love you,"_ Angelique whispered, the two of them vanishing from sight.

Reaching towards them, he grimaced as he felt the sharp pain in his chest grow, only fueling in determination.

"_Erik!"_ Albert's voice echoed, becoming louder and louder with each motion he made, fighting the thick, still darkness. _"Erik! Wake up! Erik…!"_

**~OG~**

"Get him out of here!" the doctor motioned wildly at one of the nurses. "He's hysterical!"

"You don't understand – he's my friend!" Albert shouted, yanking his arms free from the nurses. "He's not dead – he _can't_ be!"

"His pulse is faint, and the bullet is just under his lungs," the doctor explained. "There's no way-!"

"GAH!" Erik gasped, coughing violently and crying out in pain, his eyelids opening so suddenly that the nurse beside him screeched in fright.

"_Merde_!" the doctor yelped, hopping back a step as his patient suddenly appeared to come back to life.

"Erik!" Albert gasped, a huge smile growing on his lips. "You're all right!"

Erik opened his mouth to answer but all that came out was a strangled groan, his fingers curling over his wound.

"Quickly, get me my supplies! Bring the morphine!" the doctor demanded, the nurses scurrying away at once. "Young man, you have to go now-" He stopped, feeling Erik's steely grip on his arm. He watched as Erik shook his head vehemently, motioning for Albert to come closer. The young man did as he was told, allowing Erik to squeeze his hand before collapsing against the pillows, his face twisted with pain as he fought to breathe. Heaving a sigh of defeat, the doctor shook his head and waited for the women to return, ready to operate on his newest victim.

**~OG~**

_Late June, 1918_

"Erik, guess who's in the area," Albert grinned as he came to visit Erik during his short period away from the trenches.

Erik forced his eyes open and turned, smiling weakly at his two visitors. "Hello, Eddie."

"As they say out west, 'howdy'," Eddie chuckled, patting Erik's shoulder before sitting down beside the bunk. "I heard about what happened…I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

"There was nothing anyone could have done," Erik shook his head, uncomfortable in his immobile state. He felt as though he were vegetating with each passing moment, lying in his cot waiting to get the affirmative from the doctor. Though admittedly, it was a good way to stay away from the fighting. He certainly didn't miss that.

"Erik, this came in for you just now," Albert said, withdrawing an envelope from his coat. "Do you want me to open it?"

"Please," Erik requested, waiting until his friend had completed the chore before taking the letter from his outstretched hand.

"Who's it from?" Eddie asked, waving at Albert to have a seat and rest his legs for a while.

"Madeleine," Erik responded, reading the letter aloud. "'Dearest Erik, I cannot decided whether I want to strangle or hug you'." He cracked a smile at this while his friends snickered. "'I nearly fainted when I got the notice and letter from your friend, _Monsieur Borde_, about your injury. Thank Heaven you are well and recovering. Gerard keeps begging that you come home, but I realize you'll do no such thing, especially now that you have such wonderful friends to depend on. You will not believe what news we've received – Jonathan Joubert is alive and well!'" Erik paused, rereading the message once more, stunned by the news. "Incredible!"

"Jonathan who?" Eddie asked, cocking his head at him.

"An old childhood friend…he went to Africa to do missionary work but once the war started, we didn't hear from him again," Erik explained. He found his place and started where he left off. "'I cannot say where he has been staying for these past few years as he was not at liberty to inform us of exact coordinates, but he claims he is well and sends his love. You can imagine the Joubert's relief when they got his late letter, especially Marie'."

"Another friend?" Albert asked.

"Yes, Jonathan's sister."

"What else?" Eddie asked, scratching his chin.

"Hm, they hope to have me back for Christmas," Erik mentioned, skipping over the last few sentences of the letter. "Madeleine hopes that you two are well."

"Dandy," Eddie chuckled. "Your little sis is awfully sweet."

"She is," Erik agreed, folding the paper and placing it over his heart. He sighed, thinking of his loved ones around the Christmas tree in their cottage in Rouen, singing carols and drinking cider. "…I do hope we can go home for Christmas."

"Sure would be nice," the American gentleman nodded.

"Who do you celebrate Christmas with?" Albert asked, startling Eddie. "Your parents?"

"My father died when I was a boy and my mom is with an aunt," Eddie explained. "My two brothers are off in the world with their own family, I'm the youngest, so I don't get to see much of them. You can imagine my Christmases, spending them at the Baltimore Women's Knitting Club." He laughed, slapping his knee, earning sympathetic smiles from his friends. "Sure would be nice to spend it with the whole family."

"It would be," Albert nodded, his eyes wandering as his thoughts turned to his own family.

"Who knows? We just might be able to. I heard there are treaties being discussed, but I'm really no good at understanding all that back and forth talk," Eddie shrugged. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."

Erik closed his eyes, feeling them prick with nostalgic tears. _"Oh Madeleine…I wish I could come home…but I can't."_

**~OG~**

_November 11, 1918_

"It's over."

No one moved as they heard the news from their commander, who stood upon the back of one of the supply trucks, looking just as dumbfounded as he read the news to everyone. Eddie Stubenbaucker remained stock still as he heard the news, having been the one to deliver the envelope which contained the official statement from Boulogne. There wasn't a single cheer that rang out – everyone was much too suspicious. Any second now, they could receive a second message stating the opposite, or a surprise attack from opposing forces spying on them.

Erik held his breath, hope wrestling with doubt deep within him. As the noonday sun rose overhead, the late autumn chill settling around them, he mentally chanted his secret hopes over and over again. _"The war is over…it has to be over…!"_

**~OG~**

_November 29, 1918_

_Outskirts of Le Havre_

"How much further?"

The three men drank from their bottles, sucking down the last drops of water they had been saving. They were all weary from traveling through Arras towards Le Havre, to finally take a path towards Rouen where Erik's family awaited him. They had agreed to stop for the night at Albert's home once they arrived at the village, having received indefinite leave the day before from their battalion. It had been a shock to everyone, surviving twenty-four hours of quiet and calm without being attacked or killed.

"Just another half-hour's walk, we should be there shortly," Albert reassured them.

Erik stiffened, frowning as they moved along. "We're being watched."

"You're being paranoid," Eddie shook his head. "The war's over, we're fine."

"No…I can't shake the sensation that someone's-"

A rustle in the grass made his brows furrow, and as he turned his head, he felt a hard, heavy item smack itself against his skull, sending him tumbling into deep, dark unconsciousness. It felt as though only seconds had passed when he felt a hand at his face. Horror overtook him as he realized that the stranger was removing his skin-like mask, which flapped loose at his forehead. "No!" he choked, still fighting to regain control of his senses. "No, don't-!"

He could hear gasps of awe and terror, a man muttering _"Merde!"_ at the sight of his face. His felt his stomach twist as he opened his eyes and found himself amongst a small group of deserters, four in all. "What a monster!" one man whispered.

"Poor beast, I can't imagine what it's bloody mother looked like!" another commented.

Erik's shame evaporated instantly, his blood boiling in pure anger. He could see Eddie and Albert, groaning as they awoke from the attack as they lay in the slush and snow, their hands tied before them just as his were. He recognized his attackers as deserters, men who were so resentful for leaving the army that they attacked any man in uniform, afraid that they might be reported. Erik hadn't thought much of it, seeing as how most of their travels that day had gone smoothly. He narrowed his eyes now, glaring at the men, his eyes glowing malevolently in the firelight. They had taken his mask…it must have loosened when he was struck and fell to the ground. The men drew back, shaken by his fierce, silent fury until one of the men grabbed Erik's pack and brought it down on his head.

"What're you all so afraid of?! He's just an ugly man – he's no monster! Why, he can't do anything to us," he laughed, kicking Erik's stomach as he sneered. His hand took hold of Erik's dark hair as he pulled him over to the fire. "See?! Skinny as hell – nothing but skin and bones! No wonder his face is like that!" he laughed harshly, earning a few nervous laughs from his friends.

"Leave him alone!" grunted Eddie, wriggling against his captor's hold.

Erik's captor ignored the demands, nearing Erik's face to the fire. He frowned as Erik remained still, stonily staring into the flames. "What? Not scared of fire?" He reached down to grab Erik's chin when his jaw snapped open and close faster than he could blink. The deserter screamed in pain, shoving Erik aside as he gripped his hand. "Bloody Hel-GH!" He gagged as Erik nimbly spun around and used his rope bonds to strangle the man's throat as he held him hostage before his friends.

"_No one_ disgraces my mother," he hissed venomously in the offender's ear, making the man's blood run cold. "And _no one_ captures my friends." He chuckled darkly as the other three scrambled for their pistols. "Oh yes, go ahead – your fat friend will prove to be quite the shield for me."

"P-Put him down!" one of the remaining three stammered. "O-Or…or we'll kill your companions!"

Erik stopped, remembering everything they had been through, everything they had suffered. _"Was it all for naught?"_ he wondered, when a wicked little thought tickled his brain. "…I'll let him go…but I want to perform a little trick."

"A trick?" echoed one man, cocking his head at him, intrigued.

"A magic trick…for their freedom," he bartered, jutting his chin out towards his friends. "I'll let you keep me and you can use me as a sideshow – I used to earn my last master quite a bit of money with my talents."

They gawked at him, stunned. Erik released his captor, already unconscious from having his airways cut off for so long. He was still alive, though Erik was extremely close to tying the rope so tightly that his head would pop off. Thankfully, the remaining men were too distracted by his mention of a previous own and the chance at earning a few francs. "…money?"

"Oh yes. I've an assortment of talents." With a flourished bow, he chuckled darkly. "I'm a kind of _Don Juan_, don't you know?" _"That's right…draw from the stories Father told you…"_

"What kind of talents do you have?" another man asked warily.

"All kinds…I can make francs disappear from your pockets without stepping near you, I can compose sonatas within minutes…I can even make the grass sing." It had been years since he used his ventriloquism skills – probably the last time was during the New Year's party to amuse little Alain and his playmates, making their stuffed animals and dolls giggle and whisper. Still, he closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the techniques his father had taught him, then let the memories take over. One of the men yelped as the grass patch beside him sighed and chant as the cold air brushed through. Another man gaped in horror as another little patch cried out as the flames of the fire consumed it. The third man plucked a blade from the ground and listened at it sang a church hymn, his eyes wide in awe. As the three men remained occupied and Erik threw his voice from one place to another, he withdrew his pocketknife and cut his bonds free. Motioning for his friends to continue their silence, he pulled out his nearly invisible Punjab thread and set to work. One after the other, he threw his magical lasso and tugged it hard enough to make the men swoon. As they fell to their knees, hw caught them and quietly set them down. _"Easy as pie."_

"You did it!" Albert gasped, his eyes wide in amazement.

"That was incredible!" Eddie grinned, waiting patiently for Erik to cut their bonds. "You didn't kill them?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the scoundrels.

"I have a feeling that leaving them alive will be much more a punishment than the release of death," Erik answered lightly, causing his tow friends to exchange glances.

"Right…Albert, grab the mask, _s'il vous plait_," Eddie said, practicing his nearly fluently French. "We wouldn't want to frighten your family."

Getting themselves cleaned up, they brushed the dirt off their backs and departed before the deserters could catch them, following Albert as swiftly as possible towards Le Havre. Erik smiled as they continued to ask him about his ventriloquism skills, utterly amazed. He was certain now, things would be all right.

**~OG~**

Albert's family was most welcoming, consisting of his aging parents and three elder sisters. They welcomed Albert and his friends with open arms, insisting that they stay a while. After three days of celebration and cheer, Erik insisted that he leave.

"I truly do wish I could stay, but with my own family being so close, I can't bear to be away from them another minute," Erik explained.

"I understand," Albert nodded. "I'll go with you-"

"No, Albert. Stay here, with your family. You've only just returned." Gripping his timid friend's shoulders, he vowed, "I will write to you…I know where you live. I could easily ride out here one of these days and drop by. We _shall_ see each other again soon. Agreed?" He offered his hand, waiting for a response.

The young man gripped Erik's hand, shaking it firmly as he smiled. "Agreed. Thank you, Erik. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here."

"You returned the favor for me a few months ago," Erik winked. "Until we meet again, _mon ami_."

"Tell your folks 'thanks'," Eddie grinned, taking his turn to shake hands with his fellow soldier. "See ya soon." Saluting their friend, the two men took off as the sun dipped down, the sky ablaze in tangerine, lavender, and rose. It would be another few hours of walking until they arrived at the farmlands that Erik's ancestors had once owned, but he was certain they would find shelter nearby. His home was so close, he could taste the tea and biscuits that awaited him in the cottage parlor, he could hear his sister's laughter as she played with Franc and Alain, he could see Gerard's face as he welcomed him with open arms...

"Bah," he muttered, shaking his head. _"You've spent too much time with the Bordes."_

"What's that?" Eddie asked, cocking his head at him.

"Nothing. Just a thought," he shrugged, waving it off carelessly.

Eddie chuckled at him, shaking his head. "You amaze me, Erik. You amaze me every day. You're quite the puzzler…"

"It must run in the family's blood," Erik grinned, earning a laugh out of the American man.

"C'mon, tell me more about your father – I only got tidbits. The story's fascinating…that is, if it doesn't offend you that I ask."

Erik shook his head. "No…you know, I used to be ashamed of my face…I don't know when it started, I didn't mind as a child…but as I got older, I realized that there was one girl in particular who cared about looks, and she would never accept me completely…I became bitter…and after being in this war, something's made me realize that I shouldn't be ashamed of this…I may be alone, but at least I know there are people who tolerate me."

"'Tolerate' nothing!" Eddie frowned. Touching his friend's shoulder, he softened his voice and spoke in earnest. "Erik…I don't tolerate you. I like you for who you are, face and all. Your face makes you unique, and if a bimbo girl can't wrap her pretty little head around the fact that you're an amazing person and you love her, she's not worth your time or affection."

Erik felt his eyes sting with tears as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "…you remind me of my sister…she said something similar the day I was rejected."

Eddie laughed, slapping Erik's arm in a kindly manner. "She's a sharp pistol, your Madeleine. Can't wait to meet her!"

Erik smiled, delving into the story of his father's life. He told him all he knew, all that he had learned from his parents and from the articles that Leroux fellow had written oh-so-many years ago. Eddie absorbed it all, his eyes showing how he truly felt upon hearing about Erik the Elder's abuse and his triumphs when he finally met Angelique. The moon peeped through the thick evening clouds, its light shining down on them, and though the night air bit into their skin, they could feel waves of heat. No sooner had Erik started explaining about Christine Daae, he squinted, catching sight of a structure consumed by the orange flames of a raging fire.

"Come on!" he said, the two men running forth as quickly as they could. Cutting through a handful of fields, they found themselves nearing a burning home, the owner choking as he wept outside. "_Monsieur_!" Erik called out, both he and Eddie kneeling down beside him. "Are you injured? What-?"

"My wife…my daughter!" the man wailed, slumping to the ground. There was a smell of alcohol on him, making Erik's brows furrow in suspicion. "They were-"

"_Papa_!"

The sound of the feminine voice made all three heads whip around, their eyes widening in shock and terror as a girl of thirteen summers stuck her head out the window of the second floor, gasping and crying. "Papa! Help me!" She screamed as falling debris collapsed within, sending her falling back into the room

"Odette!" the man cried, reaching helplessly towards her. "My little girl! She's all I have!"

"We need to get water and- ERIK!" Eddie shouted, watching in awe and horror as Erik nimbly climbed up the tresses along the wall of the burning house, dodging the flames as though he were a monkey. He felt his stomach twist as Erik leapt into the window, vanishing from sight. "Erik…!"

**~OG~**

Erik shouted in surprise as an eager tongue of fire licked across his artificial face, consuming it almost instantly. "Damn these infernal masks!" he hissed, ripping it from his face and tossing it aside. Pulling his scarf around his face so that only his eyes glistened in the firelight, he instantly found the girl, lying on the floor and choking for breath. "Odette!" he called out, remembering the father's call. He reached for her, taking the tiny figure in his arms. "Don't fall asleep, child, stay with me!"

She blinked her emerald eyes open, staring blankly at him until something clicked in her mind. "Am…am I dead?" she asked, her voice raspy from the smoke. She gawked at his golden eyes, not from fear, rather from fascination.

"_Non, mon cher_," he reassured her, dodging more obstacles as he fought his way back to the window. "You're quite all right…"

She nodded, hiding her face into the crook of his neck, her skin and ebony hair sending shivers down his spine despite the heat. A surge of emotions coursed through him as he tightened his hold on the innocent, determination taking over his mind. He would _not_ fail her. Arriving at the sill, he instructed her to hold on as he climbed his way back down the tresses.

"Hurry!" he heard Eddie shout when suddenly, there was a sickening snap. "Look out!" Eddie screamed.

Raising his face, he saw the roof of the house collapse, embers and materials flying every which way. Startled by the event, Erik's grip loosened on the tresses, sending him and the girl flying to the ground. His mind was still alert, however, and he moved as quickly as a cat, catching the girl bridal style in his arms as he braced himself and landed on his feet. He toppled over, landing on his back with a grunt. _"That was most ungraceful-"_

"Guardian Angel?"

The child's question took him off guard, causing him to gawk at her as she coughed.

"You're my guardian angel…aren't you?" she asked, timidly reaching towards him and caressing his exposed cheekbone with her fingertips.

"_No…I'm a murderer, a soldier, a man with a horrible face and sometimes an even worse temper,"_ Erik thought, but all that came out of his lips was, "Yes…yes I am."

She smiled sweetly at him, leaning over and pressing her lips to his masked cheek. "Thank you, _Ange_."

He felt his heart ache as she preformed the tiny act of gratitude, making his eyes water instantly. "I-"

"Odette!" the father shouted, running towards her. "Oh my darling!"

"Papa!" the girl, Odette, cried, weeping upon seeing her father. Erik automatically handed her over, slinking away and tightening his scarf around his face.

"Erik!" Eddie hissed, chasing after him. "What's the matter with you?! You climb up a house and jump down almost two stories to save the girl, and now you're running away as if she's caught the Bubonic plague!"

"My face," Erik murmured. "I don't want to frighten her…it's better this way…let's go home." Eddie pouted at this but held his tongue, wondering what really happened in the burning house of the poor farmer and his only daughter.

**~OG~**

"Gerard's gone out with Berlioz to check and see what the fire is about," Suri explained as she and Madeleine joined Madame Couture for a pot of tea, having been woken by the commotion of the burning farmer's house. "I just hope that no one is hurt."

"I'm sure things will be all right," Madame insisted, raising an eyebrow as they heard a knock on the door. "Now who could that be?"

"I'll get it," Madeleine offered, arising from her seat and moving towards the drawing room where the front door stood. Tucking her loose red curls behind one ear, she unlocked and opened the door, her jaw dropping as she found herself staring into a set of golden, catlike eyes. "E-Erik…?!" she whispered, almost not daring to say the name for fear that he might vanish.

"_Bonsoir, mon petite_," he answered softly, accepting her as she threw herself into his arms.

"Oh, Erik!" she wept. "You're home! Oh, Erik! Erik…!"


	6. New Arrivals

**Chapter Six – New Arrivals**

"Erik!" Suri exclaimed, rushing towards him once he entered the house. "Oh, Erik, you're home!" she cried, embracing him tightly.

"Oh, Heavens! Look at you, you're skinny as a rail!" Madame Couture gasped.

"I was always skinny as a rail, Madame," Erik rolled his eyes, hearing Eddie snicker behind him.

"I just can't believe it…you're home!" Madeleine laughed, kissing his covered cheek. "Erik, what happened to your mask?!"

"I'll explain later, I promise, but we've been traveling all night," he said.

"Wait, 'we'?" she asked, turning to see a second figure hesitantly waiting by the doorway. Her eyes widened as she realized all she had said in front of the stranger. "O-Oh!"

"It's all right, he knows about…_this_," Erik pointed at his face before beckoning his friend to join them. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Eddie Stubenbaucker from the United States," Erik said, placing his hand on Eddie's shoulder. "He's a good man and a dear friend."

"We're heard quite a bit about you from Erik's letters," Suri smiled, bowing her head respectfully to him. "Welcome to our home."

"Thanks very much," he said, swiping his hat off his head. "I don't mean to trouble you, I just wanted to meet Erik's family. I don't suppose there's an inn around here-?"

"Nonsense, we have a spare room," Suri insisted. "Henrietta, would you-?"

"I'll start right now," Madame Couture curtsied, taking off towards the stairs.

"That's the maid and cook, Madame Couture," Erik explained. "Her son, Berlioz is our butler. This is my sister-in-law, Suri, and my little sister-"

"Madeleine," Eddie said softly, his eyes locking with hers.

She blushed, hugging her shoulders modestly. "Y-You know me?"

"Only through Erik's letters," he answered, offering his hand to her. "And those delicious cookies you sent."

"Oh dear," she giggled nervously as she placed her hand in his. "That last batch didn't come out quite the way I wanted them to-"

"They were perfect," he said quietly, taking her hand pressing his lips to it. "Your letters gave us all hope…so on behalf of myself and our friend, Albert, who couldn't be with us, please accept our humble 'thank you' for allowing us to share in Erik's happiness upon your letters' arrival."

Her face became a lovely pink color as she listened to him, shyly glancing to and from his face. "That's…I…I'm speechless," she confessed.

"You haven't been here five minutes and she's already speechless, and that's a hard thing to do," Erik smirked, sensing there was something very strong pulsing between the two of them. He had shared in her agony at the news that Lamar had passed away, knowing that she was deeply in love with the young man, but she was older now, a young woman getting on with her life, and Eddie was certainly dashing and a true gentleman…He thought he would have felt territorial, angry for this sudden display of infatuation, but the truth was he was secretly delighted to see them getting along so well. It was a beautiful change of pace, considering what he endured for the past three years.

"Erik!" Madeleine scolded him, still shyly stealing glances at the young soldier. "Y-You're from America, aren't you? Your French is wonderful."

"Erik's a good tutor," Eddie chuckled.

Suri was not blind to the sudden change over her sister-in-law and shared a knowing glance with Erik. "Will you be returning to America soon, Monsieur Stubenbaucker?"

"I haven't made any plans as of late, no. I thought I might explore France since I'm here before going home…I don't have much of a family to get back to," he explained. "But don't worry, I won't trouble you-"

"Trouble indeed. Stop worrying so much, we are not going to kick you out onto the streets. You may stay as long as you like," she informed him cordially when the front door opened once more.

"Suri, do we have any tea? Berlioz and I…" Gerard froze as he saw the two new figures standing in his drawing room. He felt his heart stop as Erik faced him, lowering the scarf from his face to expose his ghastly countenance. "…Erik?"

"I'm home," he answered softly, taking a step forward. He gasped as Gerard attacked him with the speed of a cheetah, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a hard shake.

"Are you _mad_?!" he snapped. "We were worried sick about you! And then you were injured, and…we thought that…" The elder brother fell to his knees, weeping as he begged forgiveness from Erik.

"I'm sorry, Gerard," Erik whispered, kneeling down and embracing his brother. "I'm sorry I left like that…but I'm home now…I'm finally home." _"And I'm never leaving again."_

**~OG~**

_February, 1919_

_Paris, France – Palais Garnier Opera House_

"I'm home, Father, Mother," Erik whispered as he approached their graves deep beneath the catacombs of the _Palais Garnier_. "I don't ever want to leave this place again."

"Don't be ridiculous, Erik. You can't just live down here for the rest of your life," Gerard frowned as he helped his brother place their roses into the slots of the respective graves. "You have your skin masks – and there are an assortment of prosthetics that scarred and injured men are using now. You don't have to hide anymore."

"Gerard, you know that feeling you get when Alain is pestering you while Madame Couture is trying to find her bloody spectacles and Madeleine is skipping about the room in that lovesick state?" Erik asked without even looking at him, his voice dripping with smugness. "That feeling that drives you into the study and causes you to lock the door and remain inside without human contact for an hour or so? That is what I feel every so often, more so now that we've all been cramped together in our rustic Rouen cottage for the past three months. I want to lock myself away and not be seen or spoken to for days, even weeks. I want to get back and write my music and poetry, I want to paint, I want to sleep, I want to breathe!"

Gerard listened as he ranted, his mind mulling over certain characteristics that his little brother displayed since returning home from war. Erik was kinder, sensitive to everyone's needs and desires…but if you crowded around him when your presence wasn't required, he would become irritable. He never struck anyone when he became angry but his eyes often had a murderous glow. He cried out in his sleep, seeing faces of men he didn't know that died gruesomely, seeing faces from his past, and possibly a mournful future. He was often anxious and struggled to get out all his energy in some productive way, but it was nearly impossible with so many people in the house. Having returned to Paris just two days prior, they had said their goodbyes to Eddie, who had remained with them for Christmas and promised to return someday, leaving Madeleine secretly swooning for him.

"…Erik…why don't you buy your own home?" Gerard suggested. "Aboveground, I mean. There must be some little place near the Opera so you can go about as Erik Chevalier and not disappear in obscurity like the…_Opera Ghost_." He shook his head at this, remembering how Erik had suggested he get back to his alter persona his father had invented.

"Why can't I be the Phantom?" Erik mused, stroking his chin in thought. "It's not as if I'd hurt anyone-"

"There's no _need_ to be the Phantom," Gerard insisted. "Honestly, Erik, you're obsessing over this identity father made up! You have everything you could ever want – a family that loves you, a home, wealth-!"

"A wife?" Erik interjected, watching his brother freeze as he asked the simple question. "Do I have a wife?...really, that's all I want. I quaint little house of my own with a wife to take out every so often…if I found a lady, Gerard, tell me…would she accept this?" He tapped his cheek, covered with the skin mask. "Really, Gerard…you ought to accept that. What other option is there for someone like me? I can't lie to a woman I love because my face _will_ eventually be seen…just like Christia-"

"Damn it all, Erik! Forget about her!" Gerard snapped. "Things aren't the way they were in father's day-"

"You didn't see how those deserters acted when they saw me…I can't imagine a woman seeing my real face. Yes, things are different and I shall join you and make appearances in the world…but I belong down here…I'm happy here…safe."

"You are like Father so many ways, it's rather frightening," Gerard shook his head. "And yet…you're not like him at all. You like being with people…you crave it…you just don't know how to handle it when you get too much attention."

"The _wrong_ attention," Erik corrected him, letting his fingers land upon the slab that protected his father's grave. "Let me be the Phantom again…I won't kill – I've had enough of that for five lifetimes…just let me be who I am…who I was meant to be."

Gerard sighed, running his fingers through his chestnut hair. "The grand reopening will be in three weeks…I trust that you'll be there as 'Chevalier' and not as 'O.G.'?"

"I make no promises," Erik said, allowing a mischievous grin to show through.

His brother groaned. "At least think about getting your own house if it's solitude you want."

Erik paused, glancing at the house across the lake, imagining its beauty and security in a home amongst the average men. "…yes…yes, I shall."

**~OG~**

_Three Weeks Later…_

"It's marvelous, isn't it?!" Madeleine gushed as she dragged her dear friend Marie through the foyer. The grand reopening was a success, and their performances were welcomed with delighted applause. They had practiced hard to make the abridged version of _Carmen_ a success, and it paid off. Both Madeleine and Marie were delighted to be back in the _corps de ballet_, giggling and gossiping about their respective beaus.

"Do you suppose that American boy will be back soon?" Marie whispered as they joined the colorful assortment of aristocrats and entrepreneurs that attended the performance.

"His name is _Edward_," Madeleine jabbed her friend in the ribs with her elbow. "And yes, he promised me he would return within a year's time. He said he wanted to make some money back home before coming back because he wants to move here to be with me."

"How sweet of _Eddie_," snickered Marie, earning another jab.

"You're one to talk," Madeleine smirked. "You're seeing another of my brother's friend's, that Albert Borde boy."

"Stop it!" she blushed. "He's not as charming as your American but he's sweet, and he's inheriting his family's farm, and he loves me, That's all that matters in the end."

"I smell a proposal," Madeleine said in a sing-song voice, giggling as he friend whined for her to stop. Her brows furrowed as she sniffed the air, smelling something else. "…I smell smoke."

"Very funny, Maddie," Marie smirked, until she sniffed the air as well. "Wait a moment-!  
A burst of fire seemed to explode from the top steps of the stairwell of the grand foyer, sending the guests into screaming fits as they ran away. "What in Heaven's name-?!"

"_Madames et Messieurs_," a rich tenor voice rippled through the room, as a shadowy figure's silhouette appeared behind the flames. "Welcome back to _my_ opera house. For those of you who are unfamiliar with me, you may ask anyone who works at this place…this is _my_ abode, and so long as my orders are implicitly followed, we shall not have any problems…I bid you good night…for now." A blood-chilling laugh filled the air as the fire suddenly died, the figure gone from sight. At once, there was chatter filling the room, many in awe and delighted at the little spectacle, others frightened out of their wits.  
"Erik!" Gerard hissed under his breath from the other side of the room. "You're lucky the police aren't here!"

"Oh, you're being such a bore, Gerry."

Gerard gasped, cursing as his brother mysteriously appeared from behind him. "Damn it all, Erik! I'm serious! Stop being such a child!" he scolded him, his scowl instantly changing into a smile as he greeted another possible patron. "How do you do, Madame?"

"Oh. Monsieur Chevalier! That was quite the little show you put on!" she gushed.

"Yes, everyone seemed to enjoy _Carmen_-" he nodded amiably.

"Oh, well yes, that was beautiful, but I meant that daring display with your so called 'Opera Ghost'!" she squealed in delight. Gerard smacked his forehead. Erik snickered behind his fist. "Tell me, is he real?!"

"He's-" Gerard started.

"Quite real, Madame," Erik stepped in, giving a charming smile and kissing her hand with a flourish, causing the middle-aged woman to giggle and blush like a schoolgirl. "There have been many who have encountered this mysterious specter. I myself have had a run-in with the Phantom."

"Oooh, how exciting!" she beamed.

"Erik," Gerard growled, as his little brother excused them from the woman's presence. "You and I are partners, _remember_? Co-owners and managers. So stop playing this little farce – you're as bad as a spoilt child!"

"Don't be absurd, brother," Erik smirked. "I'm only having a bit of-Oh!" He stopped talking as he nearly collided with another gentleman who glanced up upon seeing them. Erik's artificial brows furrowed as he squinted, taking in the man's features. "…Jonathan? Jonathan Joubert?!"

"Erik! Gerard!" the man laughed, beaming as he shook hands with his old childhood friends. "I was hoping I'd run into you!"

"Literally," Gerard chuckled. "Marie told us you were taken into the French squadron down in the French Congo."

"Oh yes. One moment I decide I'm going home and the next I'm being fitted for a uniform. It was rather sudden and I'm glad to be back. All those years away from home can change a man."

"They can," Erik said quietly, nodding his agreement.

"At any rate, I'm through with missionary work and the army. I've come home for good and I'm working at the bank," Jonathan informed them. Gazing at his surroundings, he smiled at the beauty of the structure. "I nearly forgot how grand this place is…the play was wonderful, too. I'll be sure to purchase a ticket to your next production."

"See that you do," Gerard smiled, shaking hands with him once more. "Do excuse us, we have others to greet – but please make yourself comfortable, enjoy the refreshments."

"Of course, don't let me hold you back," he nodded. "Thank you, Gerard, Erik!"

The two brothers wished him well, excusing themselves before working their way through the crowd. "So," Erik spoke up. "Who is this 'Jeanne Favre' you've mentioned? Is she here?"

"I certainly hope so, especially after the little scene you provided," the elder commented, sending him a dirty look. "She's replacing La Beatriz."

"Thank the Lord," Erik sighed, his attitude suddenly changing to one of irritated fury. "Wait a moment! You didn't tell me about this change!"

"How could I? You were so occupied with renovations in Father's house, as well as refurbishing your new home that I couldn't get a word in when I spoke with you on my visits," he frowned. "Don't you start blaming _me_, Erik! I daresay, I'm barely allowed to rebuke you for any of your ridiculous mishaps, but the moment you disagree with me on anything-!"

"_Pardon, monsieurs_?"

"What?!" the two brothers snapped as they angrily spun around to face the foolish soul who dared to intrude on their affairs.

The young lady was no older than twenty, bright-eyed and cheerful. Her beautiful brown eyes blinked in bewilderment at their response, causing her hand to rest over her heart. She wore her strawberry blonde locks captured atop her head in an elegant bun. She wore fine clothes, looking stunning in her beige lacy top, paired with a rich burgundy hued skirt. Erik felt his frustration melt away at the sight of her, her beauty making her appear as if she were glowing in the light of the new electric bulbs which replaced the gas lamps and candles.

"I'm…terribly sorry," she apologized, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to-"

"_Mademoiselle_, please excuse us," Erik said, taking his hat from his head and bowing before her. "How may we be of service to you?"

Gerard blinked before rolling his eyes. Erik had a way with snapping his attitude from one extreme to the next. "_Mademoiselle Favre_, welcome to the Paris Opera. I trust you enjoyed the show?" He ignored Erik's eyes as they stared at him in shock.

"Very much, Monsieur Chevalier," she smiled brightly, shaking hands with the gentleman.

"Allow me to introduce my little brother, Erik Chevalier, co-owner and manager of the _Palais_," Gerard said, motioning with a wave of his hand to his dumbstruck brother.

"…charmed," Erik murmured, taking the young woman's hand and placing a kiss upon it. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, monsieur," she blushed, accepting his welcome graciously. "I'm looking forward to joining the company."

"_So am I,"_ Erik thought, mesmerized by her face. "Ah…please excuse me a moment." He took off, not waiting for a response as he ran off, slipping into the shadows of the empty corridors. Curling his hand into a fist, he placed it over his heart and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. _"No…no, I will not be disillusioned by some beautiful, wide-eyed stranger…I cannot."_ He bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, cursing under his breath. _"I shan't go near her…not ever."_


	7. The Woe of the Rose

**A/N: **Brownie points to those who can pin-point what beloved story I reference and use towards the end of the chapter ;) Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Seven – The Woe of the Rose**

Two years…Two whole years of blissfulness and success.

Erik poured himself a cup of tea in his parlor, listening to the music that drifted out of the phonograph. He enjoyed his solitude in his home, though he visited his father's old house to join Gerard and the family for supper more often than he expected. He had just received a phone call from his elder brother stating that he had decided to take the day off since Alain had caught a cold and Suri was suffering with a headache, leaving him to run the Opera house on his own. Resting his cheek upon his fist, he stared absentmindedly at the wall, recounting the events taken place during this past year that seemed to have flown by without a second thought.

It was summer in the year of 1921, and all was peaceful in France. After the horrors of the Great War, the people relaxed and remained with their families, going on outings and welcoming tourists who wished to lounge by their shores. The _Palais Garnier_ was extremely busy undergoing production in the hopes of performing _The Nightingale_ by the end of July. Jeanne Favre was thriving in Paris, and was a huge success.

Erik sighed, closing his eyes as he thought of the beautiful woman. She was a delight to all who met her, and her voice seemed to penetrate even the hardest of hearts. As Erik Chevalier, he was her employer and a kind acquaintance. He made a vow the night he saw her – not to let himself fall for her charms. He couldn't allow a woman to get too close to him when he had such a face that had to remain hidden at all times, lest he wished never to see her again. So, as encounters were unavoidable, he smiled politely each time he saw her and shared the usual small talk, only delving deeper in conversation if it had to do with a performance or suggestion on her approach to a specific role. And yet, it wasn't enough to simply enjoy her presence with a cool, defensive exterior, especially not with Jonathan walking about.

He gritted his teeth, recalling how the day before he had seen Jonathan Joubert leave her with a grand bouquet of roses, kissing her hand as he earned a heartfelt smile. How she blushed, how she modestly protested as he showered her compliments…it made his stomach twist, his chest constricted…still, he had made a promise to himself…but that didn't mean that the Opera Ghost couldn't connect with her.

Oh yes, he used the Opera Ghost trick on her. He never showed himself, however, never really spoke, never manipulated her or committed crimes in her name. No, he wouldn't kill again, and he wasn't as cunning as his father…he just wanted a way to show her that he cared, that he admired and adored her. Gerard figured out his little tricks, scolding him in the futile effort to get him to stop. He did no such thing, seeing how she accepted his beautiful voice in awe and fascination. "Whoever you are, wherever you are, show yourself, please!" she had pleaded that first week he started singing to her in her room two years ago. He did no such thing, and responded so in song. It was rather romantic, really, but oh so frustrating. Still, he hoped that perhaps she might make the connection and see that the Opera Ghost's voice and Manager Chevalier were one in the same…

A knock at the door quickly snapped his attention away from his thoughts. Rising from his seat, he straightened his jacket and smoothed his hair before setting his mask in place and walking towards the door. He refrained from having servants with prying eyes and wagging tongues living under his roof, and he was starting to see it as such an old-fashioned method…really, why would he hire someone to fetch him his slippers when he could do it himself? Besides, he enjoyed his solitude and independence.

Unlocking the door, he felt a smile grow on his face as he saw his two guests. "Welcome, my brothers!"

"Hope you don't mind us dropping in," Eddie grinned, shaking hands and embracing his brother-in-law heartily. "We know you're on your way to the Opera soon, we just had a question for you."

"Oh?" Erik asked, repeating the same friendly motions to Albert. "What's that?"

"Care to celebrate?" Albert beamed.

"Celebrate what?" Erik prodded on.

"Now, don't kill us," Eddie cautioned him, still giddy with excitement.

"Out with it, man!" Erik demanded, tapping his foot in frustration.

"Maddie and Marie are pregnant!" Albert told him, earning a smack on the arm from Eddie.

"_I_ wanted to tell him!" the American hissed.

Erik gawked at them, stunned. "P-P-_Pregnant_?!" he sputtered. "_Both_ of them?!"

"You're not mad, are you?" Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mad? No, of course not…I'm…I'm going to be an uncle…again!" he laughed, clapping both friends on the shoulders. He could scarcely believe the two of them had made it this far – just a year ago, his two army friends had a double wedding, Eddie marrying Madeleine while Albert married Marie. It didn't surprise him to see it happen, and it gave him great joy to hear the news. A tiny needle of jealousy and pain pricked at his heart, distracting him from his delight. _"No…I won't let this stop me from reveling in their happiness."_ "When did you find out?"

"Just last night," Eddie answered.

"The day before," Albert added.

Chuckling, Erik fastened his tie and adjusted his cufflinks. "Gentlemen, how would you like to join me tomorrow night, right here, for supper? Bring the ladies and come by around seven. I'm sure Gerard will let me off early to prepare and will join us later."

"Sounds like a mighty fine plan," Eddie grinned as Albert nodded. "We'll let you hustle to work." Once more, the three men shook hands before the two guests took off, waving at their dear friend.

Erik watched them go, his smile never fading though his heart ached. How he longed to be just as happy as them with Joan…perhaps, just perhaps, he could break his promise…after all, wooing a woman by singing to her behind walls and avoiding conversation wasn't exactly a sure-fire way to win her…if his friends could accept his face, maybe, just maybe, she could too…

"_Pardon_…are you Monsiuer…Chevalier?"

Erik blinked, startled by the new presence as he turned in the opposite direction and found himself looking down at a man that seemed to stir a memory. _"I know him…but from where?"_ "Yes…to whom I am speaking?"

"M-My name is B-Bernard Delacroix, _monsieur_." The man was at least in his mid-sixties, bleary eyed and hunched over from years of hard work. He swiped his hat off and bowed his head to Erik politely. "I…I live on one of the acres your family once owned in Rouen…you receive ten percent of our profits." His voice trembled and rasped, his worn and soiled clothes barely staying on skeletal frame. "P-Please, Comte Chevalier, I-"

"I believe you have me mistaken for my elder brother," Erik interrupted. "I'm Erik Chevalier, _Vicomte_." He almost rolled his eyes at this. _Comte, Vicomte_… it was all a load of garbage to him. So long as one worked, he should be considered equal to the rest…of course, it could be that Eddie's American ideals had strongly rubbed off on him.

"O-Oh! I…I'm so very sorry," he apologized profusely. "I didn't mean to intrude-" The man stopped abruptly, hacking so violently into his fist that Erik took a startled step back. "I-I beg your pardon-!"

"Come inside a moment," Erik insisted, motioning for him to enter. He still had some time before they really needed him at the _Palais Garnier_… "Please, sit," he said, guiding him towards the extra seat he had placed before the hearth. Pouring him a cup of tea, he offered the cup to Delacroix, who gratefully accepted his generosity. "Now then," Erik said, sitting in his plush-lined chair. "I may not be my brother, but I'm certain I can assist you in some way. Tell me, how can I help you?" He pressed his fingertips together and settled his chin atop them, listening attentively to the old man.

"Monsieur…my family has always been faithful and hardworking under the Archambault – now Chevalier – family line. I myself am a farmer, and I've…well, I've come upon some rough times." He tentatively sipped at his beverage, watching Erik warily. When Erik remained still, he cautiously continued, "I…I would never ask so brazenly for any sort of assistance, however…I've debtors to repay and my friends won't assist me any further, and some cannot due to their own stresses…and I've my daughter to think of-"

"Daughter?" Erik spoke up, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he nodded. "Odette…she is all I have."

Erik blinked in bewilderment, a memory flashing through his mind, one that surrounded him in fire and falling debris as he held a trusting child in his arms, her emerald eyes glistening in awe at him._"Odette…yes, I remember now…so we_have_met before."_

"That is why I have come. I would not ask you if my situation was not so dire, but my daughter has done all she can to help and I am getting weak in my old age-" the man continued frantically, his ramblings coming to a halt when Erik raised his hand in a motion to be silent.

"…I'm afraid I must go to attend my duties," Erik said calmly, holding up his forefinger as the man opened his mouth to protest. "However, I shall write you a note – take it to Jonathan Joubert at _le Banque Nationale de Paris_ and ask him to make a withdrawal for you. It will be a small sum, but it should suffice for the time being. I shall notify you of further action in the near future."

Delacroix's face lit up at the news, falling to his knees and clasping his hands together. "Oh, Monsieur Chevalier-!"

"Think of it as a small token of appreciate for all your family's services to mine," Erik waved it off, most uncomfortable with the man groveling before him. "Wait here one moment…" Walking to his study, he withdrew a slip of paper from his desk before scribbling down the message to his acquaintance and sealing it shut. He was rather curious to know just what it was Bernard Delacroix was indebted of, but at the moment he was distracted with how late it had become and how chorus master Herriot would panic if were to arrive tardy. _"Always worried about the Phantom,"_ he smirked, returning immediately to Delacroix. "Might I take your address?"

"O-Oh…yes," he answered uncertainly.

"I shall require it to get in contact with you at a more convenient moment," he explained, seeing how skittish the man was. He recorded the address the man recited to him – almost reluctantly at that – and handed over the letter. "You'll forgive me if I walk you out now, won't you?"

"Most certainly," Delacroix coughed.

Grabbing his hat and gloves, Erik walked the farmer out the front door and bid him a good day before strolling in the direction of the Opera house. Placing his top hat upon his head and tugging it towards his brow, he found himself wondering just what became of little Odette, and what tribulations she might be enduring at that moment…

**~OG~**

"Monsieur Chevalier?"

The soft knock at the office door and sweet voice was enough to snap Erik's attention away from the bills he was currently filing. Raising his eyes, he found himself staring to Jeanne Favre's large brown eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he stood up, clearing his throat and quickly running his fingers through his dark hair, already beginning to streak with white though he was barely thirty. "Mademoiselle Favre," he said coolly, waving his hand at her to enter. "Come in, please…to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Pardon my interruption, sir," she curtsied politely. "I was wondering if I might have the weekend off."

"Hmm," he mumbled, strumming his fingers along the top of his desk. "During rehearsals for our latest show?"

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't so urgent, monsieur, but my mother is ill and I wanted to be there with her. My family lives just outside the city, all I need are three, maybe four, days at the most." Clasping her hands together, she pleaded, "Please, Monsieur Chevalier! I've never asked for any time off until now."

"Yes, that is true," he nodded, his mind racing, his heart pounding wildly within his breast. "Well…I suppose I can allow you that time off…if…"

"If?" she asked, taking a step towards him, making his breath hitch.

"_If you'll go out to supper with me once you return."_ "…if-"

"Knock, knock!"

The new voice caused the two of them to be startled, their eyes moving to the open doorway to see Jonathan Joubert entering the room, one hand hidden behind his back. "Sorry to interrupt," he smiled cheerfully.

"_The story of my life,"_ Erik frowned. "Hello, Jonathan," he said stiffly.

"Jon!" Jeanne beamed, her face lighting up as he entered the room. She let him kiss her hand, blushing as she asked, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at work-!"

"I know, but I had something important to ask- Oh! Erik, I saw that gentleman you sent earlier today, it's been taken care of," he informed him.

"Good," Erik answered, emotionless. "Shouldn't you be-?"

"I just had to ask," Jon ignored him, getting down on one knee before Jeanne. "I've been thinking about it a long time…" He withdrew the hand he hid behind his back, revealing a tiny black box that he opened to display a diamond engagement ring. Joan gasped in surprise, her hands rising to cover her dropping jaw. "Jeanne Favre…will you marry me?"

Erik's eyes were as huge as saucers, his jaw hanging open like a fool. His stomach seemed to have transformed into a stone that weighed him down from within. _"No…no, it can't be! She can't say-!"_

"Yes," she whispered, after gazing at the shining object in uncertainty and shock. A shy smile graced her beautiful lips as she nodded her head and repeated her words, driving an invisible dagger through Erik's heart. "Yes! Yes, Jon, I'll marry you!"

Gleeful, the man slipped the ring onto her finger and kissed her tenderly, making Erik want to string him up with his Punjab lasso. "Well, it looks like you're the first to know," Jonathan beamed, grinning at Erik. "I'm sorry about being so forward, especially here, but I knew you'd share our happiness, Erik!"

"Yes…of-course," he choked, forcing a pained smile on his fake face. "This is…wonderful. You must go and celebrate."

"We shall," Jonathan agreed.

"Oh, wait!" exclaimed Jeanne, turning back to Erik. "You said there was a condition if I left this weekend."

"To where?" Jonathan asked.

"My mother, Jon. She's ill, remember?" she reminded him. Returning her gaze to Erik, she asked, "I can go this weekend if…?"

"If…if you promise to practice very hard when you return, which I know you shall," Erik said, forcing the words out of his mouth as he turned away. "Please excuse me, I have quite a bit to finish…all this paperwork, you know."

"Of course," Jeanne said, her brows starting to furrow at his reaction. "I-"

"Let's go," Jonathan suggested, nodding his head to the suddenly silent man. "Thank you, Erik! We'll see you about soon, I'm sure."

"_Merci_, Monsieur Chevalier," Jeanne added as she let her betrothed take her away. "Good bye…"

He said nothing, his lips pressed together into a thin line as he waited for them to be out of earshot. Sluggishly, he trudged to the door and shut it, locking the barrier tightly before releasing a furious roar, rushing to his desk and knocking everything over. Swiping everything off the surface, he reveled in the mighty sound of the various articles crashing on the floor, a glorious cacophony of chaos and destruction which matched his mind, heart, and soul.

"_Too late, you fool! You waited too long! You let fear and doubt hold you back…and now look at you…reduced to this miserable state."_

Falling to his knees, Erik covered his masked face and sobbed heavily, his body quaking as he fought to remain silent so that none of the nosy maids and cleaners would hear him. _"Why didn't I die that day in the trenches, Father?! Tell me – why must I be tormented like this?!"_ he demanded, his hands curling into gnarled fists as he ripped the mask from his face and tossed it violently at the wall. "WHY?!" he cried out, slumping to the ground in defeat. Only his echoes in the locked room mockingly answered back, leaving him alone and broken once more.

**~OG~**

"Is there nothing else you require, Monsieur Opera Ghost?" the faithful, gullible Madame Jammes Cecile asked, setting the two roses down upon the first seat in the forbidden and mysterious Box Five.

"Nothing," Erik answered darkly. "_Bonsoir_, _Madame_."

"Yes sir," she curtsied, scurrying away as quickly as possible.

Heaving a weary sigh, Erik slipped out of his hiding place in the hollow pillar and snatched the flowers before returning to his post and sliding down to the first cellar, making his way towards his secret home. He was in no mood to see anyone, not Madame Jammes, nor Gerard, not even his dear friends or even his little sister…nothing would cheer him now…all he wanted to do was throw himself into the lake and never be seen again.

"_Twice have I been smitten, twice I have broken. One from carelessness, one from carefulness…and neither time has my affection been returned."_ He thought that perhaps he ought to scribble that little piece down before he wondered whether or not to vanish off the face of the earth for all time. "Balderdash," he muttered. He knew he couldn't just up and vanish, much less consider suicide. It was one of the ultimate sins, his parents would never forgive him for considering such a thing, and it would break Madeleine's heart…Still, his mind wandered to that nearly fatal day when he was shot in the chest, how he barely made it out…_why_? Why had he been guided back by his parents? Why would they want him to suffer so…?

He slowed to a stop as he arrived at his parents' graves, putting the roses into each of their slots before placing both hands on the slabs, pressing his barren, exposed forehead to the cold, slimy stones. "What is it that I need to be here for? What could possibly be so important that you wanted me here instead of at your sides…what-?" He stopped, his head jerking up as he heard a yelp in the darkness. His head swiveled around as he glanced towards his right, hearing shuffling, uneven footsteps coming this way.

"The _Rue Scribe_ entrance," he whispered, slinking back into the darkness. Some fool had managed to break through the entrance, or found one of the spare keys hidden in the stone wall, and made it through this far towards his hiding place. _"I_ knew _I should have kept the traps in!"_ he reprimanded himself. Sticking to his vow that he would not kill anyone from the moment the war was over, he had dismantled all the hazardous, lethal traps. The _Rue Scribe_ entrance, because it was so unused, remained without a replacement trap, partially because he saw no need for one, and partially because he became extremely occupied in the past two years since he returned. Standing in the shadows and mist, he pulled out his lasso and waited, expecting to find his unsuspecting victim shortly. His glowing eyes searched the blackness as he held his breath, widening as he recognized the figure that stumbled forth. _"Bernard Delacroix?!"_

"Mrgh…tre-jhure…hehe," the man giggled, hiccupping as he glanced around, his body swaying as he struggled to stand on his two foot.

"Mon Dieu_, he's absolutely drunk!"_ Erik realized, his half-nose crinkling at the strong smell of alcohol that rolled off of him from where he stood. _"What's all this about 'treasure' he's muttering about?"_

"Where's deh tre-jhure o' tha Phan-tom?" old Bernard slurred, tripping over his own shoes when he caught sight of the two beautiful red roses that stood in the wall. "…flowers…" he murmured, his eyes glazing over as if he remembered something. Reaching out, he took hold of the flower placed upon Erik the Elder's grave and plucked it roughly from its hold.

All the pent up fury that Erik had been holding in so that he might not harm anyone finally snapped as his eyes blazed like two coals from Hell. With an effortless swing, he sent the thin lasso flying through the darkness until it caught Delacroix around the neck, and with a fierce tug, he brought the man falling onto his back. As he choked and groped at the thin, merciless weapon, still clinging to the rose, Erik ripped his hood away from his unmasked face and gripped the man by his thick throat, forcing him to stare in horror at him.

"You wanted to find the Phantom and his treasure?!" he hissed venomously, secretly enjoying the look of utter fear and repulsion on Bernard's face. "Well _félicitations_, _monsieur_! You plucked my treasure from its hold and you will now die as you gaze upon my hideous countenance!" It was all bluff, of course – the last thing he wanted to do was kill the man, but he was so furious that he wanted to make him squirm in his grasp, if only for a few moments.

"N-No! P-Pl-Plea-se!" Bernard choked, clawing at Erik's thin but strong hands. Erik loosened his hold just a bit so that he might understand his strangled, slurred speech better. "I-…I needed money!"

"Chevalier gave you money, that is no excuse! What became of it?!" Erik demanded, not the least bit amused to hear the same excuse. He already had his suspicions about what had happened to his withdrawal.

"Y-You know Ch-Cheva-lier?!" the drunk man gaped.

"I _own_ that family," he sneered malevolently. "I know all that happens…I am but a ghost, after all…a ghost who only values his precious flowers which _you_ stole!"

"P-Please!" he continued to grovel pathetically.

"What happened to the money?!" Erik demanded once more.

"I-I-I…I spent it…drinks-ACK!" Delacroix's eyes appeared ready to pop out as Erik tightened his hold.

"Worthless scum! Cheat and liar! You abuse Chevalier's trust and generosity to steal his money for your own selfish needs, then intrude upon my home!" Erik roared, his voice reaching frightening magnitudes as it echoed in the catacombs.

"I-I said the truth! I do h-have money problems! But I needed a drink-!"

"You mean _'drinks'_!" Erik snapped, making the man whimper like an abused dog. Lowering his voice, he menacingly concluded, "So…you foolishly spent his money on liquor, then heard about a ghost that lived in the sewers and supposedly had treasure and came to steal it…well, you succeeded. And now, you must die."

He said it so matter-of-factly that the old man started to weep. "No, please! I-I'll do anything! I can't die, _Monsieur le Fantome_! I have a daughter-!"

"So I've heard," he hissed, giving the man's throat another squeeze.

"I-didn't-know-the-flowers-were-the-treasure!" he wheezed. "I-wanted-to-take-it-as-a-gift-to-my-Odette!"

"Oh yes, most certainly," Erik laughed cruelly. "Well, Delacroix, I shall give you one last chance, as I am in a generous mood as well today…Go home. In a fortnight, you will return to me. Enter above through the _Garnier's_ entrance and tell them you wish to speak with Erik Chevalier. He shall bring you to me and I shall take my vengeance on you. Your debts shall be settled and you shan't need to worry for you daughter…but if you do not come…" He grinned wickedly, causing Delacroix to pale so much that he thought his might faint or possibly die of fright. "If you even think that I will forget, or that you can hide from me, you are mistaken. My eyes see all…remember all…" He lowered his face towards the man, watching him wriggle and squirm, crying like a baby. "And my nose…" He breathed in deeply, fighting not to retch at the heavy smell of vomit and liquor of poor quality. "I will sniff you out, just like a bloodhound." More bluffs, but they worked wonders on the frightened wretch. "I'll suck your soul out and keep your daughter captive for the rest of her miserable life…are we clear?"

Bernard Delacroix nodded, tears spilling down his face as he croaked his consent. Deftly, Erik's fingers worked to loosen the lasso and remove it from his neck. Tucking it into his belt, he pulled his cape's hood over his head, his eyes the only visible trait in the darkness now. "Get out…before I change my mind." Slowly, he slinked back into the shadows from whence he came, the mist rolling off the lake encircling him as he vanished from Bernard's bleary vision. He waited, watching as the man unconsciously clutched the stole rose and picked himself up, coughing violently as he tripped and stumbled in an effort to run away from the haunted place. Eventually, he disappeared, leaving Erik in the stillness of the underworld of the Paris Opera House.

* * *

**A/N: "Beauty and the Beast"**anybody? ;) I don't own "Phantom of the Opera" or "Beauty and the Beast" - I own my OCs and the crazy idea to write this story. Please don't forget to let me know what you thought and I'll see you all next time!


	8. Heartaches, Fear, and Secrets

**Chapter Eight – Heartaches, Fear, and Secrets**

"Fool!" Erik cursed himself as he slammed the door of his underground home, running straight for his father's old room. He had kept it to compose and lock himself away when in foul moods, and tonight was no exception. Sitting down at the organ, he began to play angrily, a specific portion of his father's _magnum opus_ coming to mind. "_Don Juan Triumphant_ indeed," he scowled, letting his fingers violently stab the keys of the well-kept instrument. "_Don Juan the Scoundrel_ is more like it!" He could still see Bernard Delacroix's red face, his eyes large and bloodshot as he gawked in horror of his face. He could really care less at this point what happened to the old man, but he had a daughter…

Erik finished the last two bars of the song, his hands falling limp upon the organ. "Odette," he murmured, remembering the child he had saved years ago. He had no idea what she turned out to be after he rescued her, especially after seeing what a wreck Delacroix turned out to be…still, he knew he would not cause him harm when he returned in a fortnight. No daughter should suffer the loss of the only family member she had left, even if he was a drunken liar who stole his money. Resting his head upon his arms, he let the darkness in the room envelope him, his eyes fluttering close. It had been turbulent all throughout the day, and the soothing calm of nighttime called him back into his opaque realm of restless dreams…

**~OG~**

"You did _what_?!"

Erik shushed Eddie, grimacing at his friend's reaction. "Ed, please-!"

"Erik, you exposed your face to the man and told him you'd hunt him down if he doesn't come back?!" Eddie hissed. "What if he calls the police-?!"

"He won't. I know his type – superstitious and cowardly," he rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee as he and his friend sat outside a quaint bistro early that morning.

"But he _could_. Good grief, Erik – why didn't you just let him take the rose and go?"

"I just placed it before my father's grave," he answered coldly, watching Eddie's eyes widen. "He plucked it without a second though and ran off with it in the end. Besides, if I had let him go, he might have taken the boat to my house, or fallen into the lake…not a bad idea actually," he joked, stroking his chin as he feigned considering the idea, earning a kick from Eddie.

"Have you told anyone else?" Eddie sighed, placing his cheek into his open palm.

"No, and I hope I don't have t-" A gentle tug on his coat sleeve snapped his attention to a little girl standing by the table, dressed in fine clothes and no older than five years of age. Her bright blue eyes stared at Erik curiously and her brown hair came in plaits hanging by her shoulders. "Hello, _mademoiselle_," he smiled kindly, tipping his fedora to her. "Where's your mother?"

"Over there," she pointed, a beautiful blonde woman rushing to their table.

"Marguerite! How many times must I tell you not to…! Oh!" the woman exclaimed, pausing to catch her breath and study the two men before her. "I'm…I'm so sorry…" She squinted a moment before taking a step back, a gasp of surprise escaping her. "…Erik?!" she whispered.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, glancing from his friend to the woman. "I'm sorry…do you two know each other?"

"Christia," Erik murmured, his eyes widening as he finally recognized her. "…I thought you had moved to Switzerland during the war."

"We did…but we're back," she answered softly, taking the little girl in her arms. "…you look…well."

He snorted, looking away as he ran his finger over the rim of his cup. "As well as I can be. You look lovely, but then you always did. Where's Gaspard?"

"Business…with friends," she answered uncertainly. Biting her lip, she looked away, stammering, "E-Erik, about what happened…all those years ago…I-"

"How old is your charming daughter?" he asked, ignoring her and smiling sweetly to the little girl, who beamed back brightly. He had no qualms with the child – she was innocent of what her mother had done to his heart and feelings. Really, he had forgiven Christia long ago, but the ache and invisible scars still remained.

"Five…Marguerite, this is Monsieur Chevalier, and his friend…?"

"Edward Stubenbaucker," he answered, rising from his seat and offering his hand to her. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, _Madame_, and you, too, _mademoiselle_." He shook hands with the mother before smiling and bowing to the child.

"It was lovely to see you, Baroness, unfortunately, I must be going," Erik said, rising suddenly from his seat, adjusting his jacket before bowing to the two females. "I must get to work."

"Of course," Christia nodded. "It was…nice to see you again, Erik."

"Likewise. Good day," he answered politely to the mother, snapping his fingers and making a little blossom appear out of nowhere. "Good day, Mademoiselle Marguerite," he said gently, offering the delighted girl the flower.

"Good-bye!" she chirped, happily taking the small token.

Eddie excused himself, hurrying after Erik as he began to stalk away like a madman. "Wait just a minute!" he demanded, panting as he hurried after him. "Wasn't that the girl from before you joined the war-?"

"Yes," Erik answered stiffly, his tone hinting that he would not be persuaded to say any more on the topic.

"Now wait just a moment," Eddie insisted, daring to place his hand on his shoulder. "I understand that you want to get away from the lady, but I still have that friend I want you to meet."

Erik growled, reluctant to encounter anyone else for the rest of the day. "I told you, Eddie, I have to get to work-"

"Eddie, old boy, is that you?!"

The two men stopped upon hearing another call out, turning around to find a pudgy gentleman hurrying up to them, a thin briefcase in his hands. His eyes lit up and his bushy moustache seemed to grow as he saw who they were. "Good, I caught you in time!"

"Gaston, you have brilliant timing," Eddie grinned, shaking hands with the older gentleman. "Gaston, this is my friend Erik Chevalier. Erik, this is my editor and colleague, Gaston Leroux. He helped me find my job as a reporter at _Le Matin_. He's also the man who's hooked me into writing novels."

Leroux and Chevalier stood perfectly still, staring at one another in surprise. "…so…you are Erik…" Leroux murmured.

"Chevalier the Second," Erik reminded him, his eyes narrowing for a moment. "…you did a report on the _Garnier_ years ago."

"Oh, yes! I believe it was your brother who gave me a tour," he nodded the affirmative. A smile grew on his face as he handed him the leather briefcase. Erik stared at it, perplexed. "I believe there's something inside that will please you," he said gently, motioning for him to take it. "It will be much safer in your hands."

Erik gripped the sides of the bag, uncertain as to just what this man was up to. "…_merci_," he answered, his brows furrowing in contemplation.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you," Leroux beamed, shaking hands with him before turning away. "Did you still want me to review that story of yours, Edward?"

"Yes, just a moment." He patted Erik's shoulder and said, "We'll see you tonight for the party?"

"Yes…of course," he nodded, watching his friend walk away with the strange man. His eyes drifted back towards the case, his fingers caressing the worn exterior. _"Just what is that man up to…?"_Shaking his head, he tucked the bag under his arm and walked off, moving down the sidewalk until he arrived at the _Palais Garnier_. His mind swirled with questions as he entered the managers' office and stepped inside, his brother already at the desk.

"Oh good, you're here," Gerard noted, stroking his moustache. "Would you mind going out to the stage and seeing what Herriot and Madame le Plume are fussing about? They've been at it like cats and dogs all morning."

"Certainly," Erik nodded, placing his hat upon the rack and nodding towards his brother. "I shan't be long." Taking off, he maneuvered his way easily through the passages until he arrived backstage, shuffling past the sceneshifters until he came to the stage, where the chorus master and dance mistress snapped at each other, just as Gerard had explained. "Silence!" he bellowed, earning everyone's stares and frightened silence. "Thank you. Now then, what's all this belly-aching about?"

"Monsieur Chevalier, this infernal woman can't cue the _corps de ballet_ on time," Herriot, a whining, sniveling man jumped in first, complaining of the stern but fair ballet mistress.

"I have done this production before when you were out sick, Robert, and I did not have this problem with your substitute," she sniffed contemptuously.

"He was an idiot then!" he argued, his voice rising an octave as he got frustrated.

"Perhaps you ought to show me just what happens and what you're grousing about," Erik suggested. "Places, girls! Gentlemen, have your music ready." He snapped his fingers, the sharp sound signaling to everyone that the rehearsal was taking place. "Let's see…whenever you are ready, Monsieur Herriot."

The music started, and just as it reached it peak, Madame le Plume cued her dancers to come in, the girls twirling in time as they tip-toed their way onto the stage.

"Stop!" Herriot called out, the music halting abruptly, the dancers stumbling and glancing at one another in confusion. "That's just like you, Madame, you called them out at the correct cue now that the manager is here-!"

"What a lie! That's what I've been doing the whole time, you just wanted to create a scene!" she snapped.

"_Madame, Monsieur_," Erik called out, raising his hand in a motion for them to be still. Bowing his head, he said, "Madame, do continue what you were originally doing. Pay no mind to him. And as for you-" He glared accusingly at Herriot, who paled under his scoring gaze. "If it weren't for my sympathetic brother, I would have sacked you ages ago! If you like working here, I suggest you stop starting rows and focus on what you ought to be doing." He turned to walk away, pausing for a moment before glancing over his shoulder at the man. "By the by, at the crescendo, it's B major. You're falling flat on that last note."

The musicians cast their director pointed glares, as if to say "I told you so" while the ballerinas giggled, silenced with a look by their mistress.

"Please excuse me," he said, gripping the briefcase as he started to take off once more when he noticed someone was missing. "_Madame_, where is Mademoiselle Favre?"

"She's in her dressing room, _Monsieur_," the elder informed him. "She's been acting strange since she arrived this morning."

"I see…please, continue with the rehearsal. Excuse me." He stalked off, moving through the musty halls and nooks until he arrived at a specific door. He raised his hand to knock when he heard Jeanne's voice from within the room.

"Please…I know you're here…somewhere…won't you come out? I have to tell you something."

"_She's calling out to him…the Opera Ghost,"_ he realized, his stomach twisting in a knot as he realized just what it was she wanted to tell him. Holding back a sigh, he slipped away from the room, unable to resist answering her one last time. Finding the loose slab of wood, he slipped into the hidden passage and removed a slot in the wall, allowing him to peep into the room. He could see her perfectly, sitting at her vanity with her soft, shining hair cascading all around her. It made him moan, his heart throbbing as he remembered the moment she said 'yes' to Jonathan's proposal. If she was to be with Joubert, then he would not see her again…especially not as the Opera Ghost she had come to admire.

"_Mademoiselle…I sense there is a change…a change in you,"_ he sang softly, forcing each syllable out of his mouth.

"There you are," she breathed, hugging her shoulders. "…you've always been there for me, always encouraged me…you even give me suggestions on how to improve my voice." She curled her hair around her finger, a nervous habit she was unaware of. "…perhaps you've heard, but I wanted to tell you myself…" She inhaled deeply, lacing her fingers together as she clutched her hands tightly. "…I'm…engaged to Jonathan Joubert." She waited, listening hard for any sound – a growl, a gasp, a laugh, anything…there was only silence, and then…a long, mournful sigh. "Y-You're upset, aren't you?" she asked timidly.

"…_tides come and go, the sunlight dies and stars must someday fade away…"_

"W-What do you mean?" she asked, rising from her chair as she listened to the invisible specter sing.

"_My heart is torn into two ways – one of joy and one of pain…"_

"Phantom?!" she cried out, fear overwhelming her.

"_There's no need to rely on shadows or ghosts…it's time to say goodbye…I must finally leave my post…"_

"Phantom, don't! Please!" she begged, falling to her knees and raising her arms to the sky. "Don't go!"

"…_goodbye…"_

Erik turned away, unable to handle her weeping and pleas for him not to go. _"Don't toy with me, lady…you never loved Chevalier, and how could you?"_he thought sullenly. "He never showed you any affection – he was a coward. And you certainly can't love a voice with a face like a corpse…you can't keep coming back to this detached voice, my dear…voices and people don't fall in love…so it must be this way." Walking down the hidden corridor, he moved towards the manager's office, opening the briefcase he had lugged around nearly all day. Stopping for a moment by one of the torches that lined the filthy, dripping passage, he withdrew the documents inside and read Leroux's writing.

"_The story of the Opera Ghost is a true one – however, despite the publishing I made, this story is the_ true _retelling of my research on the Phantom of the Opera. It all began one snowy night when a young woman trudged through the snow, hoping to find shelter from the bitter cold…"_

Erik absorbed the first page, his eyes widening as he realized what these papers were. Torn between wanting to read the rest and knowing that his brother awaited him, he forced himself to stopped, the feeble promise that he would read it all at his leisure later that evening barely pacifying his insatiable hunger to know in dull detail what had happened between his parents. Crushing the briefcase to his chest, he realized this was his opium, his only link to the past, to the man he admired and the woman he adored that were long gone…perhaps, somewhere in this story, he would find comfort, and the answer he searched for as to why he had survived for so long, and how he might find happiness and acceptance.

**~OG~**

"Papa?"

The door creaked open and a young woman stepped inside the room, seeing her father lying on the bed, coughing continuously. "I brought you some more soup," she said, walking to his bedside and setting the tray down. "You'll never guess who was at the door."

"W-ho?" he hacked, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the stinging, harsh pain in his throat and lungs rage on, his stomach in a foul mood.

"Marius St-Pierre. He said 'thank you' for paying him what you owed," she answered, shutting the curtains and lighting a candle as dusk fell over the land.

"Dear God," Bernard gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he realized what had happened. "He won't let me forget…"

"Papa, you couldn't have seen what you claim to have seen," she protested, sitting on the bedside and spooning the soup into her ailing father's mouth. "There are no such things as ghosts-"

"Watch your mouth," he spat at her, going into another coughing fit. She waited until he was able to speak before offering more food. "You believe in angels, but you refuse to think there are specters that wander the earth? This is all _your_ fault, after all! If it weren't for that stupid flower-!"

"I never asked you to bring me anything!" she snapped, rising from her seat. "The one time you remember that I like flowers, you happen to steal it from some 'ghost' you heard about in a local bar, and the fool tells you the Phantom of the Opera has a hidden treasure – and you _believe_ him!"

He winced, feeling guilty as she spoke the truth. "…Odette-"

"Just be grateful that the Chevaliers are paying off your debts," she said coolly, reigning in her anger. She knew it was the Chevalier's paying them off – it _had_ to be, according to her father's accounts. Each debtor and friend Bernard had borrowed from was being paid in full, and nearly all accounts had been settled in the past week since he had come home. Still, she was frightened to think of the figure that her father had encountered and angered. He arrived home in a quaking mess, his state worsened from his travels back from Paris. This 'Phantom' claimed to find him should he not return, and she could not bear the thought of her father being taken away to some horrible prison or fate. As terrible as he was, drunk and wasteful, he was all she had, and she had to protect him.

"Rest, Papa. I'll be back shortly," she urged him, leaving the soup behind as she walked out of the room.

"Odette?" he croaked. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I'm…so sorry."

She gazed at his tiny, bent figure, curled up in agony under the covers of his little cot. "…so am I." Shutting the door, she returned to the kitchen and sat down, sighing as she placed her head upon her arms. She ran her fingers through her short locks, her hand curling into a fist as she imagined the rest of her ebony locks. She had cut and sold her hair, leaving her with a wild, short cut bob, her neck exposed and naked. She had sold her nicest dresses, she cooked and cleaned in well-off families' homes, she bargained and made due with what they had, but she never begged. She was much too proud for that.

Her green eyes filled with tears as her stomach gurgled, demanding food. She ignored it, knowing that he father needed the soup she had made more than she did. There was some stale bread and a few vegetables that were beginning to rot…perhaps she could cook them…

The sound of a horse approaching the shack made her raise her head, getting to her feet to open the door. Upon opening it, she felt her face turn bright red, embarrassment overtaking her. "_Monsieur Monette_," she said softly, curtsying as the tall gentleman slipped off of his horse and approached the door.

"Please, Odette, call me Destin," he smiled at her, taking her hand and kissing it. "Odette – what happened to your hair?!"

"I cut it," she admitted, her eyes darting off to avoid his stare.

"When?!"

"In June…I had to help pay the bills some how."

"Well…I like it," he said politely, bowing to her. "Speaking of sums, is your father home? I just received a rather large sum under his name to pay off the debts he owed me."

"Y-Yes…he's home," she answered uncertainly. "He's gotten much worse-"

"It's important, you see. I won't take up too much of his time," he promised. He was a charming and dashing man, well into his mid-twenties and a successful lawyer in the town. Slicking his dark hair back with one hand, his amber eyes entreated her to let him in. "Please, Odette?"

She sighed in defeat, stepping aside to let him in. He had been a great help to them when they needed him most – he had loaned them money and brought them meals every so often when he could. He even brought her flowers on her birthday. She was hard-pressed to admit it, but she had become extremely fond of him. Of course, she never thought that they could possibly have any serious relationship – after all, she was worse off than most of the rural girls in the area, and he was a successful lawyer who traveled and made a decent amount of money.

"He's in his room," she said, leading him to the door. "Papa?" she called out, knocking twice upon the wood. "Monsieur Monette is here." Opening the door, she motioned for him to step inside when her stomach growled angrily at her. She grimaced, giving the man an apologetic look. "I'm sorry-"

"Find something to eat…and take this." He withdrew a shining apple from his saddlebag, along with a fresh loaf of bread. "It's not much, but it should fill you up."

"I can't-" she shook her head, but the food did not vanish.

"Please Odette. You won't let me buy you anything else, not a bracelet or gown or even a blanket. At least accept this."

Relenting, she took the food and curtsied, relieved and shamed at having to accept the articles. "Excuse me." He let her return to the kitchen as he entered Bernard's room, shutting the door after him as he let his glimmering eyes lay upon the old man.

"Y-You!" Bernard gasped, wheezing for air.

"Now, now, Bernard, let's not get all excited," he sneered stalking towards him in the dimly lit room, his voice soft and threatening. "Listen here – I don't know _how_ you paid off those debts, but I can promise you that our deal still stands."

"N-No, it's not like that," he coughed. "I-I don't know who's paying them off, honest!" he lied, gagging as Destin placed his hand upon his neck.

"Save your breath – I know you went to Paris, probably asking some rich idiot to pay off your debts, but remember, you promised Odette to _me_!"

"P-Please…let her off," he begged, tears filling his tired eyes. "I was drunk…you tricked me, made me bet for her future…!"

"Precisely," Destin sniffed, releasing the man as he fixed his gloves. "Odette's a gem, and while I can't marry her for a wife, she'll make a fine mistress. A deal is a deal, after all…you lost, and I won. But don't worry, I'll compensate you nicely. You can gamble your little earnings from handing her over once you receive them."

"P-Please…!" Bernard begged, reaching out in a futile effort to grab his arm.

"Get well soon, Bernie. I'll be back in a week to collect her." With a cruel smile and a taunting wink, he turned away and walked out the door, leaving the old man to weep in his agony.

"God…if You are there…and You can hear me…punish me…but save her…save my daughter!" he pleaded in a feeble gasp. He curled into the bed, hacking his lungs out as the candle's flame wavered and cast shadows of doubt across the walls.


	9. The Daring Daughter

**A/N: **Thanks for your continued support, everyone! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. PS - I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of the Bible verses.

* * *

**Chapter Nine – The Daring Daughter**

In the dead of night, a lone figure rode through the countryside of Rouen, her destination the only thing in mind. Concerns and fears poked at her brain, try as she might to ignore them, but she would not stop…not now. Her father would be well taken care of by her loyal neighbor, who was sworn to secrecy about where she was headed. Leaning forth as the old mare cantered, for that was as fast as the old horse could move, she prayed to God that whatever she encountered, she might confront it with faith, wisdom, and courage.

**~OG~**

"To think that our little sister is pregnant," Gerard murmured, stroking his chin in deep thought. "I don't know whether to leap with joy or strangle the American."

"Now, now. He's our brother-in-law. This was bound to happen," Erik smirked. Tapping his finger against the top of the desk, his mind wandering to the records the Leroux had written. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered how the story of his family had renewed hope within him. He could feel their presence as he read the entire story in one night, staying up well into the wee hours of the morning to absorb every last detail. He'd read it again recently in the past few days, giving him the strength to continue coming into the Opera House. It still pained him each time to see Joan, and he could still hear her call out to him in her dressing room, though he refused to answer. She would be happy with Jonathan…and he would, in time, learn to be happy for them…

A knock at the door made the two brothers raise their heads. "Come in," Gerard spoke up.

In stepped Madame Jammes Cecile, bobbing a curtsy to the two gentlemen. "Begging your pardon, _monsieurs_," she said politely. "But there's a young lady asking to see the _Vicomte_ – says it's urgent."

The two brothers exchanged glances, utterly perplexed. "Let her in," Erik nodded. _"Odd, I don't recall scheduling anything with a lady…Delacroix should be here by now, though-"_ His thoughts froze as he saw a tiny, thin girl enter the room, barely reaching five feet and looking like a starved dog. The threadbare dress she wore hung loose off of her frame, and her dark hair had been chopped off, leaving her with wild, boyish locks framing her tanned face…but her eyes – those large green eyes surrounded by long, fluttering eyelashes, they struck him with more force than her whole shocking countenance.

"_Pardon_," she apologized, her voice startling Erik. He had expected her to sound feeble, fragile…she was not of that sort. She stood straight, and though she trembled, she held her head high and locked her gaze with him, her voice even and silky. "I don't mean to be so intrusive, but I'm looking for a man named Erik Chevalier."

Gerard raised an eyebrow at this, glancing over at his little brother. Erik arose from his seat, absentmindedly straightening his jacket and clearing his throat, his eyes still trained on the girl. "I am Erik," he said, bowing to her. "How may I help you?"

The girl – she wasn't even twenty, she couldn't have been – took a deep breath and said, "My name is Odette – I'm here on behalf of my father, Bernard Delacroix."

His eyes became huge at the news, and he fought not to fall back into his seat. This wasn't supposed to happen! Delacroix was supposed to come in, groveling for forgiveness, and at best, Erik would spook him with a few tricks and make him work here in the _Garnier_ under his watchful eye. Why on earth did the daughter come in his stead?! Just what trick was the old man up to? "…your…father sent you here?" he asked, tugging at his collar. Why was it so warm in the room all of a sudden?

"No, _monsieur_," she shook her head. "He… He doesn't know I'm here…I came to take his place."

Her words hit Erik's chest like a sledgehammer as his hand gripping his heart, horror filling him. _"No…it wasn't supposed to be like this! What am I supposed to do with her?! God knows what he must have said – she looks petrified, probably thinks I plan to eat her alive!"_ "I…see." _"Think, man,_ think_! Now's not the time to panic, not in front of Gerry and especially not in front of Madame Jammes! Think, think,_ think_!"_ Inhaling deeply, he held his breath and closed his eyes, his mind whirling as he strove to figure something – _anything_ – out to keep her occupied until he knew what to do. "My dear, would you wait outside just a moment? Madame Cecile will keep you company until I can join you, I shan't be long."

She nodded, curtsying once more to the men before joining the aging woman out in the hall. The moment the door shut, Gerard was upon him.

"Erik, what the _hell_ is going on?!" he demanded, pointing at the door. "Just what are you planning on doing with that poor, bedraggled girl?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Erik hissed, pressing his fingertips to his temples.

"Oh yes, you tend to do that a lot, don't you? Act first, think later. Damn it all, Erik, what is happening?! That girl looked as if she was ready to face her Maker!" Gerard snapped. "What did you do-?!"

"Shut _up_!" Erik all but bellowed at him, his eyes glowing angrily. Gerard took a step back, startled by his reaction. Growling in frustration, Erik fell back into his seat, explaining what happened in the catacombs and what he had instructed his intruder to do. "I hadn't counted on getting a replacement…her father probably told her about my demonic threats and she's here to protect the thieving louse, probably imagining she's going to meet with the Devil himself," he moaned, his head in his hands.

"_Mon Dieu_, Erik, this is madness!" Gerard sighed, smacking his forehead in exasperation. "Just what are you going to do with her now? You can't just keep her downstairs in Father's old house-"

"It worked for Father," he grumbled.

Gerard glowered at him. "Like it or not, Erik, you are _not_ Father. Get that through your thick skull. Not every female thinks that being stolen away into the sewers by a masked maniac is romantic." Heaving a sigh, he rested against the desk. "You'll have to send her home-"

"Certainly not," Erik snapped. "After what that man did to me-"

"What _he_ did to _you_?" Gerard asked sardonically.

"What he did was _wrong_," Erik insisted stubbornly. "No…I'm not going to back off now." Rising to his feet, his brows furrowed a moment, his fingers stroking his chin. "Hmm…it's risky…but it just might work."

"What?" Gerard asked, starting after him.

"Ah-ah," Erik said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Don't even think about following me. I leave you to your business, leave me to mine. I can handle this."

"Erik-!" Gerard started, receiving a slammed door in his face. His face twisting into a scowl, he stomped back to the desk. "Fine. When it blows up in your face, don't come crying to me."

**~OG~**

"I'm afraid _he_ won't be around until late in the evening. That's why your sudden arrival startled me," Erik lied smoothly once Madame Cecile had gone, leaving him and the girl alone in the lavish hallway. "…to be perfectly frank, your being here at all took me by surprise. Your father-"

"Please, _monsieur_," she cut him off, her eyes locking with his once more, shaking him to his core. "I know that my father must have done something terrible to have been asked to return here. I thought he was just raving when he started talking about…ghosts…but hearing you confirm it…" Her breath hitched, her body shaking as she finally accepted the truth. If a sensible gentleman like this one acknowledged and spoke of a phantom that existed in the theater, then she knew her father had spoken the truth. "…my father is…not well," she said, raising her head once more to face the man. "Ever since I was a child, he had problems…he drank to try and ease them…that's why he got into trouble and owed so many debts…I am truly grateful that you took care of them all, and we can never repay you for the generosity you've shown…I-I'm very sorry – I know that means nothing – but I'm so sorry you had to suffer through all this because of my father-"

"My dear, you look about ready to faint," he said, his brows furrowing in concern as he reached for her. He bit back a gasp as she gripped his arms tightly for support. The only women who had touched him so were his sisters and mother…it sent strange sensations shooting through his veins, confusing ones that frightened and thrilled him. "There's no need to apologize…I'm sorry it came to this," he said gently, seeing the tears in her eyes.

"…is he…I mean…am I going to…?" she choked.

He shook his head. "I don't know what you're thinking is going to happen, but I swear to you, nothing shall harm you…_he_ will not harm you…you have my word." She released a little breath of relief, though she still trembled in his arms. "…I don't mean to pry, _mademoiselle_… just how old are you?"

"S-Seventeen," she answered warily. "I just turned seventeen…back in June."

"Mon Dieu_, she's a baby!"_ "I hope I didn't seem presumptuous…you look rather young is all." He winced at his pathetic excuse, feeling absolutely awkward with the girl. "You must have had a tiring journey."

"I…I hope you don't mind, but I rode my father's horse here…she's an old mare, and she was exhausted, I asked to place her in the stables and the boy at the front took her." She blushed, feeling utterly ridiculous saying this to a fine, well-bred gentleman, a _Vicomte_ no less. "I didn't know what else to do with her…and I didn't have money for a cab-"

"It's perfectly fine," he reassured her. "I'll make sure they care properly for her." She nodded her thanks to him, still wobbly in his grip. "…I'm going to take you to a room where you'll be comfortable until it's time to meet _him_," he informed her, releasing her arms. He raised one of his arms to her, silently offering to escort her away. She stared at his arm, bewildered by the motion, and for a moment, he considered just walking away and having her follow him. He bit his lip as she uncertainly took hold of the crook of his elbow, her hands thin and small upon his sleeve. "Sh-Shall we?" he asked, struggling to get the words past his lips.

She nodded, allowing him to guide her away. She gazed at the ornate walls, lined in gold and delicate shades of beige and crème while the carpeted floor shone as through she treaded upon a sea of spilt red wine. This world was alien to her, but beautiful, making her feel as though she would spoil everything if she even thought of touching an item. "_Monsieur le Vicomte_-"

"Erik," he corrected her. "Erik Chevalier."

"Monsieur Chevalier," she tried again, her eyes scanning each inch of the walls. "You act as if you've known…_him_ for many years."

Erik released a dark chuckle. "I'm afraid so…he's an old family acquaintance."

"Is he…human?" she asked quietly, clutching his arm just a smidge as she heard a ballerina scream from the stage as they entered the backstage passages.

"Quite. Though he has a peculiar air about him that gives the impression of being…what's the word? Supernatural." He patted her hand comfortingly, earning her attention as their eyes locked once more. "You needn't fear – he won't harm you."

She blinked, her steps slowing as she gazed at his unusual eyes. They were rather dark, nearly black, but the moment they walked into the shadowed areas of the Opera house, they appeared to glimmer and glow, like golden cat orbs. She stared for a moment, mesmerized. "…you…remind me of someone…"

"I…what?" he asked, stopping in his tracks as she stared at him, goosebumps rising on his skin.

"Your eyes…I feel like I've seen them somewhere before…" She turned her head suddenly, releasing him from her enchantment. "I'm sorry…that's silly isn't it? I'm sure we've never met before."

"No…we haven't," he lied, his voice strained and soft. "Come."

Moments later, the two arrived at an old room, one that had been refurbished and modernized with electric lights, but had yet to be put to use by any of the lead performers. Withdrawing the key from his vest pocket, Erik opened the door and ushered her inside. "I shall have Madame Cecile bring you your meals when it's time," he told her, watching her every move as she cautiously stepped inside, gazing in awe at the beautiful room. He already missed the feel of her hand upon his arm. "Until then, I must ask that you stay in here. I can bring you books, music, paper-"

"I…I don't want anything, thank you," she said firmly, bowing her head to him as she held onto the divan for support. "I just…I'm-"

"I'll let you rest," he said, nodding in understanding. "You must be exhausted…should you need anything, anything at all, simply tug that rope," he said, pointing to the strand that hung by a large, ornate mirror at the far end of the room. "I will personally attend your needs."

"There's really no need," she shook her head, clutching her arms. "I'm not…accustomed to all this, _monsieur_." She could see how he bowed his head, his eyes moving away from her frame, and she could sense the hurt he contained. Why was he hurting? Was it something that she said? "…actually, _monsieur_, if it's not too much trouble, I _would_ like something," she said softly.

"Yes?" he asked, raising his face once more.

Biting her lip, she looked away, embarrassed. "…a blanket…just a blanket…" She braced herself, imagining he would scowl or laugh, but he only smiled warmly at her, making her forget her fears for the time being.

"As you wish," he bowed once more. "I'll be back shortly."

She plopped down most unceremoniously onto the divan after he left, hiding her face into the plump, decorative pillows. _"No…don't cry…don't let him see you crying…"_ It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" she called, struggling to maintain her composure.

"It's just me," Chevalier's voice came through the door. "May I come in, _mademoiselle_?"

"Yes, of course," she consented, rising to her feet as he opened the door once again.

"Rest, please," he urged her, motioning for her to sit down. He handed her the thick fabric, offering his hand to her. "Please, my dear, rest. Things will be all right, I promise you that. I'll make sure of it."

She sniffled, a tear escaping her despite her best efforts. "You are very kind, Monsieur Chevalier."

"Nonsense," he muttered. He found himself shivering as she slipped her hand into his, an impulse driving him to daringly bring his lips to her hand. Raising his eyes, he saw her blush, ducking her face away shyly. Offering a small, shy smile, he patted her hand and reminded her, "Should you need anything, I'm at your service." Rising to his feet, he bowed once more to her and walked out of the room, shutting and locking the door after him in an effort to keep prying eyes out.

Odette waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before opening the blanket and covering her body, hiding her face for a second time into the lush pillows. At last, she let fatigue and fear sweep her away into darkness, her silent tears streaming down her cheeks as she fell asleep.

**~OG~**

"_It's time."_

He looked at himself in the mirror, startled by how different he looked in the strange, antique costume. It was a simple suit, really, but the fine details on it gave it a unique personality, finished with a billowing midnight cape and an impressive wide-brimmed fedora that dipped over his masked face. His father's clothes suited him…they gave him a sense that he could do anything. He didn't use much when he played "Opera Ghost" – all he did was put on his hooded cape and make a few silhouetted appearances. But this…it made him feel as though he was back in his parents' day, that he was powerful…

Adjusting his mask, he couldn't resist a devious grin before turning away and leaving the underground house, making his way towards the lake. Once he rowed across, he moved through the cellar passages unseen and unheard, Christine Daae's old room his destination. He had placed the girl there mainly because of the mirror device his father had installed years ago – it would be easy to take her without anyone seeing or making a commotion. He made sure to grab one of the torches that still lined the old walls, illuminating the way as he walked onward. As he turned onto the corridor that would lead him directly to the mirror, he could make out a soft, pleading sound that made him stop in his tracks. He held his breath, taking silent steps towards the mirror as he listened intently to the music.

"_Fear…_

_It's taken hold of me, _

_So God I beg You, _

_Listen to my plea!_

_Give me strength, _

_Give me courage,_

_Give me wisdom,_

_Give me faith…_

_Help me to face my fate."_

"_Mon Dieu_," he gasped, stretching out his hand and placing it upon the mirror. Inside the dressing room, Odette sat on the floor, her hands pressed together in desperate prayer. Tears streaked her pale face as she sang a prayer from her heart. God only knew what she thought he might do to her, and though she was petrified, she did not ask to be taken away from the situation – she merely asked for support to face it.

"Oh, Papa, why?!" she wept, burying her face into her arms, her body shaking from her fierce sobs.

Guilt bubbled within his chest, making him wish he hadn't caught her father and tormented him with his face. His fear seemed to have transferred to the girl, and that was the last thing he wanted. He thought about going around and calling the whole thing off when he heard her utter two words.

"Guardian Angel," she whispered, making him freeze. "Guardian Angel…you came to me when my life was in peril…if God sees it fit, have Him send you to me, protect me from whatever I may face…oh, God!" She wept once more, sobbing for a few moments before weakly cleaning her face off with her fingertips. "Tears…won't solve anything," she murmured, her jaw set firm as she fought to remain calm. She glanced at the cold, untouched trays of food that Madame Cecile had brought, and quickly looked away.

"_She didn't even eat…she's that terrified that something terrible will happen,"_ he noted, his stomach twisting into a knot.

Tucking her knees beneath her chin, she hugged her legs and closed her eyes, uttering a Bible phrase that seemed to soothe her for the time being, "_'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want'_…"

"_She remembers,"_ he thought, the events of so long ago rushing back to him. The fire licked at his feet but she clung to him, all her faith in a stranger who vanished and had strange, glowing eyes. _"She wants her Guardian Angel to come…then he shall come."_ Placing his upon one of the many stones to his right, Erik pushed it aside to reveal a set of small switches. With a flick of his forefinger, the lights in her room dimmed, causing her head to go up, her eyes wide with fright. He opened his mouth and began to sing, hoping that the sound of his voice would calm her. _"Be not afraid…I will always be with you…"_ With another flick of a switch, he waited as the two-way mirror slide away, revealing himself to her. He was certain she would scream now, seeing a dark figure in a hidden passage that sang to her, the only things visible were his shadowed mask and glowing eyes. He waited, waited for the moment she would faint, edge away, cover her head…

She arose, shakily, to her feet, unsteady from fatigue and shock. No sound came from her mouth, she did not turn and run to the door. She held her head up and took uneasy steps toward him. He stretched out one hand, curling his fingers towards him as he beckoned her to come closer. With each passing second she drew near. He held his hand out, waiting, hoping to see if-

She hesitated, just for a moment, as she looked into his eyes, her brows furrowing as she remembered someone with those very same orbs. He held his breath and waited, not moving an inch, when she slipped her weak, shaking hand into his gloved one. His pulse quickened as she grabbed onto him, more for support than anything else. Helping her into the secret corridor, he shut the mirror and led her away, only allowing her to grab his hand, using his other arm to light the way with the burning torch.

Their travels remained in total silence, the only sounds filling the air were the hiss of the torch, the pattering of water falling onto the pavement, and the wind blowing in from lower passages, passing through secret entrances and exits she had no clue about. All the while, she moved with him, compliant and quiet, though she still trembled. He didn't dare speak, lest he break the stillness and frighten her. Wonder coursed through him, flashes of thoughts appearing in his mind as he remembered how many years ago, another disfigured man led a woman down this path, only to catch another unsuspecting female at the lake's edge.

At last, he guided her to the lake, the boat waiting for them, bumping and nudging against the dock as the water made it sway. Releasing her from his hold, he glanced back to see if she would try and run. She only stood, hugging her arms, swaying unsteadily, like the water before them. Stepping into the rowboat, he turned towards her and offered his hand once more. She reached for him – there was no fear now, only awe and curiosity. He held back a sigh of relief – at least she wasn't crying or screaming.

As she lifted one foot to step into the boat, Odette stumbled and gasped, falling forward as he legs gave out from under her. Instinctively, Erik opened his arms, catching her gracefully as she collapsed into the boat, her shaking hands frantically clawing at his cloak. In a final burst of energy, she turned her head to look at him, her nose touching his. She saw the golden glow, penetrating the darkness around her…

She slumped in his arms, having fainted from the stress and fatigue. He clutched her to his chest, gasping for air as he realized she had come with him thus far, that perhaps she might not fear him after all…setting her down onto the cushions at the bow of the boat, he sat down and grabbed the oars, rowing his way home.


	10. The Phantom's Rules

**Chapter Ten – The Phantom's Rules**

He carried her in carefully, cradling her body so that her head rested upon his shoulder. _"She's so thin…she must be starving…and she's still faithful to that recluse of a father."_ He shook his head in disappointment at Bernard. How could he not appreciate his own daughter, who cared so much for him she was willing to sacrifice herself? All day long, he expected Delacroix to burst through the doors, hacking and wheezing all the while, begging to take his daughter back…but no one came. Either the man was clueless, deathly ill, or didn't care. He sincerely hoped it wasn't the last option – unfortunately, it was that very one that he believed was the likeliest.

Entering the Louis-Philippe room, he placed her gently upon the bed, letting his fingers linger by her cheek. She shivered in her sleep, prompting him to pull the covers up to her neck, cautious of touching her should she waken. Keeping the lights dimmed, he stroked his chin, several bits of information and details coming to mind as he decided to leave her for the time being and go to the kitchen. He could barely eat that day, having been plagued with concerns and criticism from his family and friends for even considering such a feat. Still, he knew he was far too deep into the situation to go back now. Preparing himself a simple meal, he chewed pensively, glancing back in the direction of the girl's room. _"She'll be starving when she wakes up…considering her position and the fright she dealt with, I'd better prepare something that will be easy on her stomach. No need to have her swallow the whole meal down only to regurgitate moments later."_

Nodding to himself, he finished his meal and set the dishes aside, getting to work on creating a homey meal. Perhaps once he showed her he wasn't really a monster, she would be comfortable and open up to him.

After nearly an hour of creating and cooking a warm, pleasant meal of rosemary chicken soup, toasted slices of buttered bread, pieces of cheese and a variety of fruit, topped with a tiny bowl of chocolate mousse (if she could handle it), he piled it all onto a tray and forced himself to return to her room. He'd all but forgotten that he was still wearing the hat and cape, making him feel ridiculous as he approached the door. Balancing the meal on one hand, he knocked softly, wondering if she was still asleep.

"…who's there?" Odette's voice made him jump in surprise.

"_So she_ is _awake."_ "…The…" _"Opera Ghost? Phantom? Abductor? Let's see, which name is least frightening and offensive…"_ "Your Guardian Angel." He gritted his teeth, cringing at his choice of words. _"Oh yes, that'll be sure to make her feel safe."_ "May I come in?"

"…yes."

The breath of relief rushed out of his lips before he could contain it. Turning the knob, he entered the room, finding her sitting in the bed, still lying against the pillows for support. She squeezed the coverlet in her hands, pulling it up to her chin. Her knuckles turned white as he entered the room and let the door close softly behind him. "…where…where am I?" she asked, struggling to make her voice stronger and louder than her trembling bleat.

"You're in my home, under the Opera house," he told her, slowly walking towards her. He made sure to lower his voice an octave, wanting to make some distinction between 'the Phantom' and 'Erik Chevalier' – the last thing he needed was for her to make the connection at this point that they were one in the same. "You haven't eaten a decent meal in a long time, have you?" She said nothing, her eyes still trained on him. "I've made you something…don't feel obligated to eat it all, I just wanted to give you options." He set the tray down before her, edging away once she took the tray from him. "I hope it's to your liking."

She glanced at him, her emerald eyes shining in the dim light. "…you're…the one they call…the Phantom?"

He nodded, taking his hat from his head and bowing to her with a flourish. "Your humble servant."

She watched with guarded fascination as he stood upright and set the hat upon the nightstand, his black cape swirling around him like a loyal liquid cloud. Her brows furrowed together as she continued to stare. "You're not…I mean, my father said-"

"Ah yes, it appears you threw me through a loop, my dear _Belle_. I was expecting your father to return to the theater so that I might teach him a lesson."

"A…lesson?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"I assure you, I wouldn't have killed him," he said, his voice lowering so much that she could hint a sense of loathing in himself. "I might have spooked him, but I planned to turn him over to Chevalier, you see. The man would keep an eye on your father and employ him here, just to be sure he repaid him for the money he spent in the first place- ah, but you're confused. I don't believe your father told you the whole truth."

She shook her head. "Only that he took your rose and you threatened to kill him…he claimed you were some…corpse."

Erik gave a dark chuckle at this. "He's not too far off…allow me to tell you what happened, mademoiselle, but I insist you eat something."

Her attention from him was stolen at once as she finally acknowledged the food before her. Fatigue sharpened her senses, her stomach crying out at once to be relieved of its agony. She tentatively sipped at her soup, taking generous helpings of it once she tasted it. All the while as she surrendered to her hunger, she listened to the Phantom tell his version of what happened, how her father begged Chevalier for money, spent it all on drinks, then in a desperate attempt to find more easy money, listened to a drunken account from another fool and broke into the catacombs in search of a nonexistent treasure, only to find a 'phantom's' fury when he plucked a rose from the wall.

"That rose he brought home…it was yours after all?" she asked, feeling much more focused after eating.

"Yes…Chevalier must have told you something about me. As you can see, I am not a ghost…I'm man, just like any other."

"And…the mask-?"

"There is a reason I wear it," he answered darkly. "You father had the misfortune of catching me at a moment when I was not wearing a mask." He bit his lip as she looked away, suddenly shoving the empty tray away from her. "Well…at any rate-"

"You're not…going to…k-kill me…are you?" she asked, her body tensing as she waited for a response.

He stared at her, a strange sensation emanating from his presence, making her blush in embarrassment. She could sense his humiliation as she asked the question, making her wish she could pluck the words from the air and swallow them once more. He sighed deeply, going down on one knee, bowing his head before her. "Mademoiselle Delacroix…I swear to you, I would never dream of harming you, nor shall I lay a finger on you for that matter. This is your home now, and you may do as you wish."

"Couldn't I…go home?" she suggested quietly. "Not that I don't believe you or that I don't like it here. It's lovely, this room, and you seem like gentleman…but, my father…he's ill, you see. I've left him in the hands of a neighbor I could trust, but I need to keep working to make sure he doesn't get any worse, or…" _"Die."_ She couldn't force the word out of her mouth so she left the sentence hanging in uncertainty.

He arose from his position, taking a step towards her and placing his fingertips together, resting his chin upon the steeple he created. "I had thought about it…and I have a proposition that, I believe, will benefit everyone."

She took a deep breath, her hands curled into fists. "What do you propose?"

"Instead of having your father come here, as he _is_ ill and unfit for travel from your accounts, I suggest you remain in the Opera house. Please-" He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "Allow me to finish. I will personally send whatever is necessary to your friend to help care for your father and cover expenses at home. In return, you shall remain here in Paris. Every Saturday 'til Wednesday afternoon, you shall be under my custody. The rest of the time, you shall remain in Erik Chevalier's care, under the story that you are his ward and a friend of a distant relative. You will be well cared for, anything you wish will be at your fingertips…and you will receive singing lessons."

"Singing lessons?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "_Pardon, monsieur_, but I'm no singer-"

"No? Then what was that enchanting hymn I heard on my way to collect you from the dressing room, hm?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He rather liked the way she blushed, ducking her head down in embarrassment.

"I…I like to sing…but I can't sing. I'm awful-"

"Who told you?"

"Well…no one, but I could hear the performers in the opera, and I can't sing like that-"

"That is what the lessons are for. To improve your singing skills…have you ever been tutored?"

"We've never had that kind of money," she shook her head. "I went to Sunday school as a child, and my mother would teach me some of her favorite songs, but no. I've never been taught."

"I'm impressed…your pitch and the sound of your voice is unique and already in beautiful shape, but your talent is untapped, and with the proper training, I can help you achieve that level of perfection…that is, if you want to, and I sincerely hope you do, _mademoiselle_."

She raised one hand to her throat, blinking in awe at him. He seemed very serious in what he said, stunning and flattering her all at once. She blushed as she realized this, asking, "_M-Monsieur_…why are you doing this? You wanted to punish and supervise my father, and I understand why…but you're offering me so many wonderful opportunities…what-?"

"Don't misunderstand my intentions, Mademoiselle Delacroix," he said. "Chevalier and I will treat you as you should be treated – a young, respectable lady joining Parisian society. You have much potential, _mademoiselle_, you only lacked the means for it. I should like to assist in this opportunity…also, I must admit, I would enjoy some company."

"Company?" she echoed. "But if you know the Chevaliers-"

"We are old acquaintances and occasional partners, nothing more. Whenever either one of us is in need, we help one another."

She continued to stare at him, holding her breath. "…I will agree…but you must answer one question for me…and I hope you will answer it truthfully."

He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, nodding his head in reply.

Biting her lip, she blushed in embarrassment once again, as she dared to ask him what she had been wondering since she saw him. "A few years ago, when the Great War was finally declared over, there was a fire at my house. My mother died in that fire…my father made it outside but I was trapped on the second floor of the cottage. I thought I was going to die…and then, a man appeared. He was dressed in an army officer's uniform, with a dark scarf covering most of his face. But I shall never forget his eyes…they seemed to glisten like gold, and they brought me comfort. He saved me, and once my father took me in his arms, he vanished. I had called him my 'Guardian Angel'…"

His breath hitched as she recounted the story, his heart racing as he remembered what happened that fateful night.

"Just now when you knocked on the door and I asked who you were, you called yourself my guardian angel. When you came to take me at the mirror's edge, I saw your eyes in the darkness, and I recognized them." Timidly, she reached out to him, her palm facing the ceiling in a motion that beckoned him to come towards her. "Tell me, _Monsieur le Fantome_…are you or are you not that man that saved me?"

There was no way he could deny it – his lips had parted in surprise and relief as she spoke to him, his hand curled into a fist over his heart. Forcing himself forward, he took a step towards her, covering her hand with both of his, giving it a light squeeze. It felt strange, having this girl's hand in his, having her offer it so willingly and actually touching him…he wished he didn't have to let go of her. "…yes, _mademoiselle_. I was that man."

She nodded, the corners of her mouth turning up just enough to make out a ghost of a smile. "Then for my father's sake, and to express my gratitude…I consent to your terms."

**~OG~**

"What do you mean you don't know where she is?!" Destin hissed, grabbing Bernard's shirt and lifting him up off the bed.

"I-I-I don't know!" the old man gasped, holding onto Destin Monette's arm for support as he wheezed for air. "She j-just up and left two nights ag-ago! She didn't say anything t-to me o-o-or P-Pauline! I swear it!"

"Damn it, Bernard! I'm getting married in a fortnight – I wanted to have my little getaway home here prepared and Odette situated so that things would be ready for whenever I needed her!" He threw the old man back onto the bed with a scowl, ignoring his harsh coughs. Placing his fist over his mouth, his brows furrowed in thought. "…there's no way she could have known about our little arrangement…no matter. I'll find her even if I have to rip every city apart to pieces!" He cast Delacroix a cruel glare. "I'll deal with you later, Bernie." Placing his hat upon his head, he left the old man alone in the room, fear swelling side by side with pain in his chest for his missing daughter.

**~OG~**

It was an odd first few days for her, living with a man everyone thought was a ghost. Part if the conditions of living in his home meant that she could not travel out of the house until he took her aboveground to be with the Chevaliers, which wasn't for another two days. She didn't mind it, really – his home was beautiful and curious, full of secrets that he wasn't ready to fully share with her. He would often leave for a few hours each day, giving her a notice before he would disappear. The first time he did, he returned with a set of boxes, setting them in her new room.

"What's all this?" she asked, gawking at the parcels.

"Open them," was all he said.

She obeyed, gasping in awe and surprise as the beautiful clothes he had brought her, the latest fashion in Paris that was all the rage. Hats and shoes and dresses and skirts and blouses…even undergarments! She blushed at the thought of him going into a store and asking to purchase such items, so she bit her tongue on _that_ particular matter. "Did you purchase these?"

"With some help," he admitted uncertainly, toying with his cufflinks. "If they're not to your liking-"

"They're beautiful," she whispered, tracing her finger down the length of a lacy pastel yellow dress with a matching hat. "I've never had such fine things…" Looking up at him, she shyly added, "This must have cost you a fortune."

"Money is not a problem when it concerns your well-being and happiness," he waved it off. "So long as you approve of it-"

"I don't want to cause you any more trouble than I already have," she insisted stubbornly.

"My dear…you are no trouble at all. It…it gives me pleasure to purchase these little trinkets and gowns for you," he said, straightening his posture a bit as he clasped his hands behind his back.

Facing the dress once more, she took it delicately out of its box by her fingertips, spinning around to face him as she placed it carefully against her body. "…you don't think I'll look…silly…do you? Especially with my hair-"

"If you don't mind me asking, just what happened with your hair?" he asked, cocking his head at her.

She reached one hand upward, running her fingers through her short, wild locks. "I had it cut in June, just before my birthday…we needed money to repay a neighbor and there wasn't enough to eat…would you believe me if I said my hair reached my waist?" She laughed, trying to make it seem trivial though the sound that left her mouth was strained. "I had the wig-maker in town chop it all off…she gave me a fair price, and that was that." She was startled to see him curl his hands into fists, his head bowed down so that she might not see the anger he hid for her suffering. "My hair grows back quickly," she said, hoping this would pacify him. "I'm sure that come September, it will be down to my shoulders…" Shrugging, she looked back down at the dress and ran his fingers over it once more as it rested upon her frame. "…thank you…for the clothes."

He merely nodded before he walked away, leaving her alone in her room once more.

The Phantom always found ways to surprise her, whether it be through the delicious meals he cooked, his mastery and patience as he taught her the basics of music, or even tiny tokens that appeared out of nowhere – sometimes a single flower, other times a box of sweets, some days a poem or drawing he left behind for her amusement. He never told her what to do, and though he insisted that she be treated as a guest and lady in his home, she stubbornly fought to do her own dishes and be given a chance to make meals or clean the underground home when necessary.

"You shouldn't have to-" he argued gently on her second day.

"I've been doing this for years, _monsieur_. It's not going to kill me if I do it again. Besides, I get bored of sitting around and waiting for something to do," she answered as she dusted the bookshelves in his private study.

"You could always take a book from here and read," he suggested.

She turned around to face him, her face lighting up. "Could I?"

"Whatever gave you the impression you couldn't?" he asked, grateful that he wore a mask to cover his reddened face.

"I've been to a library once…the woman slapped my hand away because she was afraid I'd steal it…my father's reputation and all that," she confessed, her own face becoming red. "My mother taught me to read…I'm afraid I'm not familiar with fancy terms-"

"There is a dictionary you could use. You may read whatever you wish and keep it in your room until you've finished it," he encouraged her. He felt his stomach flip twice as she smiled at him.

"Thank you!" she beamed, turning her eyes to the well-stocked wall before her. "Oh, I wouldn't know where to start!"

"Might I suggest one of my personal favorites?" he asked, daring to come beside her.

She blinked at him in awe, startled that he had come within three feet of her. He was always so careful to keep his distance after that first day, not daring to touch her in any manner. She nodded her consent, taking a step closer as he became distracted scouring the shelves. Odette gazed at the mask, mesmerized by its brilliant shine in the light of the study. She often wondered why he would cover his face but she did not dare to ask or even touch him. He treated her kindly and mentioned that he pined for any form of company, so for that, she respected him and did not mention the mask or his face.

He withdrew an old, leather-bound volume from the shelf, turning it towards her so that she might read the glistening title. "_The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_," she said, already tantalized by the words. "I've heard of it…is it good?"

"Yes, but it's sad…then again, most of the best stories in the world are rather tragic, don't you think?" he asked with a sad chuckle.

"It looks rather long," she commented.

"You should see _The Count of Monte Cristo_," he grinned.

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the second book. "That sounds exciting!"

"I could always give you a recommendation as to what you might want to read next," he shrugged, struggling to hide his excitement at seeing her positive reaction.

"Could we read them together by the fire at night?" she asked, covering her mouth the instant the words flew out of her lips. "_Pardon_! I-"

"If you wish it," he answered, pretending to scan the pages of the book as he felt his heart pound fiercely within his breast. _Mon Dieu_, why was he so anxious to be with her?! "There's no need to apologize…was it something you did at home?"

Odette nodded, slowly removing her hands from her face. "…my…my mother used to read passages from the Bible when I was child. We'd sit by the fire and discuss what we understood or learnt from each chapter. I loved that time of day." She cast he eyes to the floor though she held her head up. "I'm sorry, I ramble."

He shook his head, offering her the book. "I enjoy the sound of your voice, Mademoiselle Delacroix-"

"Odette."

He blinked, his eyes widening. "_Pardon_-?"

"My name is Odette, _monsieur_. As I recall, you called me by my first name when you rescued me and had no qualms then…what makes it so different now that you must treat me so formally?"

"_You're a beautiful young woman now, that's what."_ "I was merely being politely…if you'd prefer I call you by your first name-"

"I do."

"…very well…Odette." His eyes caught how she shivered at the sound of his voice pronouncing her name, making his blood race. She seemed to revel in this sensation, as though his voice was a tender caress, her cheeks flushing in a mix of delight and embarrassment at her reaction, making his heart and mind run wild with hope. Within over forty-eight hours, she had unknowingly woven an innocent, sweet spell upon his heart, making that insufferable spark of hope flicker once more.

"_She's a girl – at least half your age! There's not a chance she could possibly think of you that way, especially not after the way you both ended up in this situation,"_ he scolded himself harshly, but his heart would not yield. Clearing his throat, he tightened his tie and motioned for her to follow him. "Come, we shall begin today's lesson by revisiting the scales."

**~OG~**

"I'm afraid I can't stay, my dear. Not to worry – Chevalier should be here shortly."

It felt odd, referring to himself as though he really were two separate people. At times he almost believed his own fib. The day had come for her to leave 'the Opera Ghost' and spend the remainder of the week with his alter ego, the respectable gentleman who would take her as his ward. She seemed a bit jittery as he led her through the tunnels back towards the dressing room mirror. "He shan't harm you, Odette."

"I know," she nodded, her hands tightening on his arm, which made his pulse quicken. Out of habit, he offered his arm to her and found that she would not release him as he took her back…not that he was complaining. "I just…I'm not really sure. I suppose I've gotten used to being in your home these past few days, monsieur…and I enjoy being there. It was like a dream…no one came in demanding anything or shouted, it was quiet…you're a gentleman and a wonderful teacher, though I'm afraid I'm failing you."

He laughed merrily at this, making her gape at him. "You sell yourself short, my dear Odette. Of course you're having trouble – what student doesn't? You learn quickly, though, and retain what you understand thus far, and I shall come and visit you each day you return to the room, at noon sharp, for an hour's worth of lessons to continue so you don't forget. You're doing beautifully in just the first few days, Odette." It was sinful, how often he spoke her name once she had given him permission, but he couldn't resist, and she didn't protest. Flicking the hidden switch, he waited for the mirror to slide open before helping her back into the room, swiping his hat from his head and bowing gracefully before her. "I will bid you _adieu_ now."

"_Monsieur_?" she spoke up, her arm hesitantly stretching out towards him. She stopped herself, blushing as she pulled her hand back. "…someday…will you show me the path to your house so I could come on my own?"

"…someday," he promised, a smile flickering onto his pale lips. "Until Sunday morning…_au revoir_." Tipping his hat, he clicked the switch back into place, the mirror sliding back into position before his figure turned and mysteriously vanished in the glass before her, as though he were composed of a cloud of mist.

"_Au revoir,_" she whispered, hugging her arms as she was left alone in the room once more, sitting at the tidied vanity and staring blankly at her reflection. She tugged at the growing strands of her short ebony hair, humming her scales as she tapped her fingers upon the table and imagined the Phantom's piano beneath her hand. A smile grew on her lips as she became lost in thought, recalling her magical time with the strange man who considered himself a beast and yet treated her with such delicacy that he could be considered a prince. She blushed as she remembered his pet name for her – "_Belle_". He seemed to have a fascination of stories with men who went through tragedy for the love of a woman…was he, too, suffering from the denial of a woman's love, perhaps…?

A knock on the door drew her from her thoughts. Thinking it to be Chevalier, she arose from her seat and smoothed out her dressed before running her fingers through her hair. She stopped herself, scoffing at her behavior. "Honestly, I'm acting like those ninny schoolgirls back at the village," she muttered, shaking her head as she hurried to the door. Still, the thought of the kind and handsome gentleman who owned and managed the Opera seeing her in a decent gown made her blush from some unfathomable reason, making her feel even sillier than before. Opening the door without a second thought, she started to smile, only to have it fade away seconds later at the sight of a woman with reddish blonde hair and warm brown eyes.

"Oh!" they both exclaimed, jumping back in surprise at one another.

"I…I'm so sorry!" the stranger gasped, placing her hand over her heart to steady its quickened beat. "I didn't expect anyone to answer…I just thought I heard a noise in there and…well, never mind," she blushed, waving it off. "Are you a new singer?"

"I…no, I'm…waiting for someone," Odette shook her head, her mind racing to find an alibi as to her mysterious appearance. As far as she knew, no one except the Chevalier family was aware of her existence in the _Garnier_.

"Oh. Well, allow me to introduce myself, at the very least," the newcomer smiled kindly, offering her hand to the girl. "My name is Jeanne Favre…what's your name, _cherie_?"

"Odette," she answered, shaking hands with the woman. "Odette Delacroix."


	11. The World Above

**A/N: **Thanks for your patience everyone! It's been a hectic few days and I needed a little push when I was writing this chapter. One of my lovely reviewers asked if there was a model or picture that would give you a visual for Odette, unfortunately I don't have one, but I will say she's got a sort of pixie cut hair style (her black hair already has started growing back but it's short and boyish at this point), she has bright green eyes and she's short in stature (about five foot, and thin from not receiving enough food). Hope this helps, and I hope you enjoy the chapter - please don't forget to let me know what you thought! See you next time :)

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**Chapter Eleven – The World Above**

"Is this your first time to the _Palais Garnier_, child?" Jeanne asked kindly.

"Uh…yes," she answered, her smile looking more like a grimace. "I was…exploring the room, I realize I shouldn't have, but it looked so beautiful. I was just waiting for-"

"Mademoiselle Delacroix."

The two females squeaked in surprise, hopping back at the sound of the velvety tenor voice that spoke. The two gawked at the tall, lithe figure of Erik Chevalier, who raised an eyebrow at the two girls. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no!" Odette shook her head. "You just…startled us."

"My most profound apologies," he bowed to them, reminding the spellbound Odette of a regal prince as he spoke.

"_Well, he_ is _a_ Vicomte_, after all,"_ she blushed.

"I merely came to bring you to the office – my sister has arrived and she asked to meet you," he explained.

Jeanne blinked at the news, looking to and from Chevalier and young Odette. _"What on earth is this child doing with Monsieur Chevalier? Oh, what does it matter? It's none of_ my _business."_ "Please excuse me, I was just leaving-"

"_Mademoiselle_, I'd like to introduce my ward, Odette Delacroix," Erik said formally, waving his hand to the young girl, who blushed an even darker shade of pink at the introduction. "Mademoiselle Delacroix, this is our leading lady here at the _Palais Garnier_, Jeanne Favre."

"Ward?" Jeanne echoed in awe. "Oh my!"

"I should like to give you more time, however, Madeleine is a rather impatient woman. Perhaps you may catch up another time?" Erik asked coolly, offering his arm to Odette.

"Of…course?" she answered uncertainly, timidly linking her arm with his. "It was very nice to meet you, _Mademoiselle Favre_."

"Likewise, dear…until next time," Jeanne waved, watching the two walk off. She couldn't resist watching them, suddenly in awe of how poised Chevalier held himself, how kindly he treated this stranger. In the two years she had been singing at the _Garnier_, he had never touched or spoken to her in such an intimate manner. He was tender with her, cautious even, but as she watched him turn his head and speak softly to Odette, Jeanne felt a sudden prick of jealousy fill her. "Heavens!" she gasped, turning away at once. She shook her head, fighting to clear her thoughts. Not hearing from the Phantom was making her so anxious that she was beginning to look for any signs of him in anyone, oftentimes hindering her practices… _"Still…"_ She looked back towards the direction Odette and Erik had walked off, the two of them vanishing around the bend. _"If the Phantom were to appear to me in person…I imagine he would be rather like Monsieur Chevalier."_

**~OG~**

"I am truly sorry for stealing you away, my dear," Erik said softly as he led her back towards the office, abandoning the wooden, musty backstage passages to enter the lavish corridors which led to the private boxes and offices towards the front of the auditorium. "However, I did speak the truth. Madeleine and I are known to be the most restless of the family."

"It's all right," she answered with a shy smile. "I had no idea your sister was here, or that she wanted to see me."

"She's been looking forward to your return all week," he chuckled, his voice soothing and alluring all at once. "So, I take it all went well with _him_?"

Odette nodded, smiling as she remembered all the little things the Opera Ghost did for her. "You were right…he didn't hurt me. He's…very sweet."

"Sweet?" he choked, covering his shock up with a cough. "I see."

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, cocking her head in confusion.

He shook his head, fighting the silly grin that wanted to desperately to show. "Nothing…you didn't hear this from me, but if he heard you say that, he'd probably blush. After all, he's supposed to be a terrible specter."

"But he's not," she smiled once again. "Both you and he agreed that you two are old acquaintances…would it be too forward of me to ask how you two know each other?"

"…he knew my father," Erik answered quietly. "So long as the Chevaliers are on this earth, there will always be a Phantom." He said no more as he opened the door to the office and ushered her inside, glancing at his family before shutting the door after him. "Everyone, this is Odette Delacroix. _Mademoiselle_, you remember my brother, Gerry?"

"It's _Gerard_, Erik," Gerard corrected him, casting him a dirty look before bowing politely to Odette. "I trust you are well?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, curtsying to the gentleman.

"This is Madeleine, and family friend Marie Joubert," Erik added, motioning towards the two women.

"_Bonj_-" she began when the two new females assaulted her.

"_Mon Dieu_! What happened to your hair, _cherie_?!" Marie gasped, noticing the rough cut.

She blushed, embarrassed. "I-"

"She had it cut to earn money to care for her family, Marie. Don't be so rude," Erik glared, walking past them and scouring the shelves until he found the book he wanted. He glanced over his shoulder to see Marie profusely apologizing to Odette, who reassured her that she was not offended. Odette's emerald orbs moved to see Erik, a full of curiosity as she gazed at him though she mouthed a silent "thank you" to him. He nodded and looked away quickly, realizing that he had nearly given himself away. He'd have to lie and say that "the Ghost" told him a little about her. He had to be more careful…

"You poor thing. You've sacrificed quite a bit, haven't you?" Madeleine asked, placing her hand upon Odette's shoulder in a motherly manner. Odette pressed her lips into a thin line, refusing to speak though her eyes told Madeleine all she needed to know. Offering a bright smile, she said, "Come! Marie and I wanted to take you on a little outing!"

"An outing?" the girl blinked, surprised by her suggestion.

"Oh yes! Now that Erik's decided to take you in, you'll need new clothes," Madeleine nodded.

"I don't need anything, really-" Odette protested.

"Oh, please?" Marie pleaded. "It will be so much fun!"

"We won't take 'no' for an answer," Madeleine grinned, watching as Odette finally surrendered and smiled back.

"I can't thank you enough," she started.

"No need to thank us. We look for any excuse to go out and have a bit of fun! Perhaps we can get some tea later?" Madeleine said, ushering Marie and Odette out the doors. Waving to her brothers, she cast Erik a sly wink before shutting the door after her. Gerard gave Erik a look, to which he looked away quickly. "What have you gotten yourself into, Erik? This is madness!" Gerard hissed. "How long do you think you'll be able to keep this farce up?"

"For as long as it takes," Erik growled, wishing he could run back to his hideaway.

"As long as it takes? Takes for what?" Gerard frowned, processing his brother's words.

"I-…" Erik paused, contemplating his own words. He was right…just what was he waiting for. "…never mind that, it wasn't what I was trying to say."

"Then what are you trying to say-?"

"_Monsieurs_!" Madame le Plume burst in, earning their attention at once. "Pardon my intrusion, but it's Herriot, he's ill again – got some nasty bout of fever! He just ran off and started retching!"

"In summer? _Mon Dieu_, he's getting to be a nuisance," Gerard sighed, covering his eyes in aggravation.

"I'll see you in a bit, Gerry, but duty calls," Erik said, following the woman out as he sighed in relief at the distraction. Still, the lingering question poked and teased at his brain. _"As long as it takes for_ what_?"_

**~OG~**

"I do hope you had as much fun as we did," Marie giggled, tucking her curls out of her face. "You're an absolute darling, Odette! I don't suppose Erik will let you come with us again?"

"I would like it very much…the company, that is. I think I'm just fine with what we've purchased for the day," Odette smiled wryly, glancing at all the parcels they had piled behind and around them in the automobile.

Madeleine winked at her, taking a turn onto the main road as she approached Erik's home. She proved to be extremely competent driving her own vehicle and prided her freedom and skills, something which Eddie had told her "made her irresistible". "I'll talk to Erik – maybe we can all get together for supper one of these days!"

"I'd like that," the girl beamed, her smile fading at the thought of her guardian angel hidden deep below the _Garnier_, alone. Guilt began to creep across her mind, causing her to vehemently shake her head. _"No, don't start. You already let guilt and fear take over when Papa told you about the Phantom…surely, he must expect you to go out every so often if he insisted that you stay half the week with Monsieur Chevalier…"_

"Here we are," Madeleine announced, parking her car before the front door, which opened almost automatically. "And here's my dear brother!" she said, waving to him as he came towards them. "Hello, Erik!"

"Madeleine," Erik smirked, kissing her chastely on the cheek. "I do hope that you didn't get all these just for Odette and didn't spend a little on yourself."

"Of _course_ we spent some on ourselves," Marie grinned. "We'd be mad not to do so!"

"I can't ever repay you for-" Odette started.

"We are not asking for payment, _mademoiselle_. If they haven't made the message perfectly clear, then allow me," he said, his hand resting on hers and giving it a light squeeze. "You are my guest, and if I am going to introduce you to society, you must have the proper clothes. This is merely one step in the ladder that must be taken if you are to be my ward."

Odette felt her face become crimson at his touch, his eloquence and mannerisms reminding her of someone…but it couldn't be…

He quickly removed his hand from hers, clearing his throat as he averted his attention to the mountains of boxes and bags waiting to be taken. "Right then…which are Mademoiselle Delacroix's?"

Marie cast Madeleine a look, to which they both starting giggling madly while Erik glared at them. Odette bit her tongue before grabbing an assortment of items, handing some of them over to Erik before taking the remainder and getting out of the car. "You're certain you don't need help?" Madeleine asked, resting her elbow upon the surface of the door to prop her cheek upon her fist.

"No thank you," Erik sniffed. "You'd best be getting home. You both are still awfully thin for pregnant women."

"We're barely a month along!" Marie snapped, uneasy at the thought of her new gowns going to waist and collecting dust while she grew bigger and rounder.

"Well, then we bid you _bonsoir_," winked Madeleine. "Until tomorrow!"

"_Au revoir_!" Odette beamed, wishing she could wave as they drove off.

"I take it you had a pleasant time," Erik noted with a small smile, seeing how she glowed in the dying light of day.

"Your sister's very sweet and amusing…and Marie is hilarious!"

"You don't know the half of it," he chuckled, nodding his head at the open door. "After you. You may set the boxes down by the staircase."

She nodded, stepping cautiously into the house, letting her eyes absorb the fine, delicate décor of Chevalier's home. "Oh," she breathed, seeing how sweet and cozy the parlor was as she walked towards the shining staircase. Two plush, velvet-lined chairs stood before a hearth, the windows on the opposite wall letting the last rays of sunlight in past the drawn forest-green curtains. The lamps lining the walls were reminiscent of another time, but they had replaced miniature gas burners with electric bulbs inside the delicate, painted glass covers.

"It's not much, but it's cozy…I'm afraid I haven't any hired help. I tend to prefer to do things on my own," he confessed, setting his boxes down beside hers. Running his fingers through his hair, he glanced off towards the kitchen door, wondering what he ought to make. "Would you like-?"

"Your home is lovely," she said softly, daring to run her fingers over the cherry wood banister of the staircase.

"Thank you," he answered, pressing his lips together as so not to openly smile at the compliment. "I chose each item, each detail myself…listen to me, bragging."

"You have beautiful tastes," she said truthfully, her eyes showing admiration and awe of the quiet, private home. "I've only imagined of such a beautiful home…"

"I do hope you approve of your room," he said, already excited and anxious to see her reaction towards the mentioned place. "I took great pains to make sure it was perfect once I received the news you were to be staying here."

"M-My own room?" she stammered, gawking at him. "I-" She paused, resting her fingers against her lips as she cast her eyes towards the floor. The innocent pose made his inners want to melt, a strange, painfully wonderful warmth tingling and spreading through his body as it began in his chest. How could she hold such a powerful spell over him?! His inner struggle was unknown to her, however, as she came to grips with the reality of the situation. It was useless to protest against all that she was receiving, as those who were with her offered these gifts – be it room, clothing, or food – especially after taking so much time and going through so much trouble just for her. It would be enough to accept their generous offerings and not to ask for anything else. _"He wants to make me a proper young lady while the Phantom wants me to become a professional singer…it's time to grow up, to accept things and think like a sophisticated and elegant adult…God help me, why am I petrified? I was just fine on my own, being the grown-up in a shack on farmlands, looking after my father…"_ Closing her eyes, she forced herself to accept it all – to accept for the sake of three people that mattered: her father, the Phantom, and Chevalier. Opening her eyes, she curtsied to Chevalier, catching him off guard. "Thank you…for every bit of kindness you've shown me since I arrived."

He stared at her a moment, stunned by her actions. It was sad and beautiful all at once – this poor girl being forced to grow up so quickly, and now having to adapt after being plucked from her native land and being forced to thrive in this bustling, changing world. A sympathetic smile crossed his artificial lips as he bowed in return, impulsively taking one of her hands and kissing it lightly. He could sense her shiver, releasing her hand instantly, mistaking it for disgust. "My apologies," he said coldly, straightening before her.

"I…It's all right," she blushed, wishing she had longer hair to hide behind. "…could I ask you a favor?"

"Ask away," he waved his hand at her.

"Could I…make supper?"

He gawked at her, absorbing the question. "…if that's what you wish." She nodded earnestly, drawing another smile from him. "The kitchen is through that door to the far left. Explore the place, if you'd like, before deciding on anything. I shall bring these upstairs."

"_Merci,_" she answered, hurrying off to start poking around the new room.

He watched her tiny, five-foot form dart off, the sounds of cabinets and drawers opening and closing making him chuckle. Picking up the same stack of new clothes and shoes, he climbed the steps as nimbly as a cat. Things would be all right…they simply had to be…

It was not for another half-hour, as he waited in the drawing room while scribbling some notes down for a little sonata he wanted to compose, until he finally smelled the rich, flavorful scent of cream sauce, sautéed and seasoned potatoes, and broiled chicken. "Heavens, what is she making?!" he wondered, rising from his seat when she poked her head out of the kitchen.

"I'm nearly finished. Will you give me a moment to set the dining room table?" she asked, a splotch of sauce smeared onto her cheek while her apron hung around her waist, dusted with herbs and soaked with water.

He gave a hearty chuckle, stepping towards her as he clasped his hands behind his back. "If it's all the same to you, my dear, I'd just as well have the meal in the kitchen. The table and chairs are just as sturdy as the ones in the dining room."

Her face lit up at his words, making butterflies magically appear in his stomach. "I was hoping you'd say that," she said, motioning him to enter. He followed her silent orders, grinning as he saw that the table had been set and was ready to be used, the food already prepared upon the fine china dishes. "Please sit down," she urged him, untying the apron and setting it upon its proper rack.

"Ladies first," he insisted, pulling her chair out for her. He enjoyed seeing her blush and smile shyly at him, sensing that perhaps she was slowly warming up to him. "Ah, by the by, you have a little something on your face."

"I what?" she asked, reaching for her cheek and feeling the slimy goo of the cream sauce. "Oh!" she gasped, laughing after a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"May I?" he asked, taking one of the napkins off the table. He bit his lip in anticipation, thinking that she might protest at such a brazen suggestion. His eyes widened as she readily inclined her head to him, her saucy cheek exposed to him. Erik forced his hand to move, gently wiping the splotch off when his fingers accidentally brushed against her skin. "_Pardon_," he muttered quickly, feeling an electric shock pass through him. _"_Mon Dieu_, keep it together!"_ He moved quickly, taking his seat and saying Grace before taking a bite of his meal. His eyes widened as he chewed and swallowed, the juices from the meat washing over his tongue while the rich, creamy sauce complimented the rosemary and thyme infused potatoes.

Odette bit her lip anxiously, watching his stunned face. "Is it…that bad?"

"Bad? Goodness, no…I just…I seem to recall that my mother made a meal like this once when we were in Rouen…it brought back memories…" He smiled at her as he took another generous mouthful. "You've whetted my appetite. I do hope there's more." He felt light within as her face lit up from his praise.

"There's plenty…I can't remember the last time I was able to cook with so much to work with," she confessed. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I love it," he corrected her with a grin, earning a giggle from her.

"Monsieur Chevalier-"

"Erik," he corrected her, remembering how she had done so to him as the Opera Ghost.

"Erik," she repeated. She didn't see him shiver at the way his name slid out past her lips, his hands curling into fists. "Then you must call me 'Odette'. You and _Monsieur le Fantome_ should at least be able to call me by my first time when it is just the two of us," she pleaded.

"Very well, Odette," he consented, his darkened golden eyes continuing to watch her curiously. "What was it you were going to say before I interrupted, my dear?"

"_My dear."_ It was a phrase both Chevalier and the Phantom used when speaking to her. Coincidence? Perhaps…perhaps not. "_Mon_– erm, Erik," she stopped herself in time. "Both you and the Phantom mentioned you knew each other for a long time, you even mentioned how he knew your father…he says he's a man, and yet, he speaks as though he came from may years ago…he couldn't possibly be…_immortal_, could he?"

He chuckled at her insecurity and curiosity. "He often seems that way, doesn't he? I don't fully understand him myself, but I know that he helped my father many years ago when he came to work at the Opera house for the first time…once they got to know one another, I suppose you could say they became secret associates. Personally, I believe this is a new Phantom who has taken over the old one…a sort of family tradition, I suppose."

She nodded, absorbing the information though something still didn't sit right with her. "You and he are awfully alike, you know."

"I'm afraid I've picked up on some of his mannerisms," he tried to smile, though it felt like a grimace of disgust. She's sharp…too sharp.

"Does he have a name? Aside from 'Ghost', of course," she asked.

He stuffed his mouth to stall for another few moments, struggling to come up with an excuse. "He didn't tell you?"

She shook her head. "I was afraid to ask, I didn't want to be rude, but…I don't know, I thought he might say…surely, his mother couldn't have looked at him and said 'his name shall be the Phantom of the Opera'."

He allowed himself a short laugh before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, my dear. I…can't tell you. It's…complicated. You'll just have to ask him yourself." His nerves were starting to grate on him, and he suddenly wished he hadn't split into two different people.

"But couldn't-?" she protested.

"I _can't_!" he snapped, his stomach twisting into an unpleasant knot as she drew back, startled by his reaction. Looking down at his food, he sighed. "I'm sorry…but I can't betray his trust…the story behind his name is linked with my family, and it's a rather odd one…so I ask that you don't ask me about it any more. I'm sure he'll inform you when the time is right."

She poked her food with her fork, staring down at the meal. "…I'm sorry."

He glanced at her, opening his mouth to apologize when he snapped it shut, looking away once more. He had thought he had everything worked out…it all seemed so simple underground…he hadn't realized she would be so inquisitive, especially after how quiet and shy she had been. "She's opening up…or, could it be that she's only timid around the Phantom?" Stabbing the chicken on his plate, he pondered just what he was going to do to mend things with his young house guest…his ward.


	12. The Magic and Mystery

**A/N: **Just a quick message - I forgot to mention in the last chapter that I changed "Joan" to "Jeanne" as I'm trying to be as accurate to French names and history in this fic as possible (thanks again to **Filhound** for catching that). Thanks to **Filhound, Calleycat, michellecarriveau, LittleStar, and PhantomFan01** for your continued support and reviews :) I hope you enjoy this next chapter and please let me know what you think! See you next time!

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**Chapter Twelve – The Magic and Mystery**

Erik excused himself after their silent, awkward meal, leaving Odette to clean up as he moved towards the piano in the corner of the parlor room, just a foot away from the window. Drawing the curtains, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. _"There must be a better way…how did Father manage all his secrets? Then again, he never posed to be two people, at least not before he met Mother."_ A rueful smile grew on his face despite himself as he sat down at the shining black instrument and pulled out a slip of paper, his notes scrawled over the bars in pencil. Setting the music in place, he let his fingers slide over the keys, pressing down when necessary to elicit the correct sound. The music flowed around him like a mystic fog until he arrived at the last point where he had stopped. Frowning, he tentatively tapped a few keys, listening to each note that rang out before trying a set of them all at once. Satisfied, he scribbled the notes down on his sheet before trying the whole bar and nodding, going back to tinkering with the music.

He didn't sense the second presence behind him until he heard her whisper "oh!" in surprise behind him. Turning around, he found Odette standing a ways off from him, her eyes resting upon him in wonder. "You compose, too?"

He understood at once, making him want to bang his head against the wall. "Yes…just one of many traits we share," he sighed, returning his attention to his work. At this point, he was beyond caring whether or not she figured it out at that exact moment. He was horrible with secrets.

"What do you call it?" she asked, taking a step forward.

He shrugged. "Nothing, yet. I haven't decided, since it's far from finished." He noticed how she held back, almost uncertain as if to approach him. "Come," he said, beckoning with his hand. "Have a look."

She stepped in, peering over his shoulder as she bent down to read the notes. "…it's a…sonata?"

He grinned, proud that she had remembered one of the many kinds of compositions he had taught her on her first day. She really was very bright. "Yes. Just something I-" He turned his head to face her when he felt his artificial nose bump against hers. She, too, had turned her head to face him, leaving the two of them gawking into each other's eyes, their noses rubbing. He gasped, leaning away from her and whipping his around to face the piano once more. His pulse had gone wild suddenly, and it was driving him mad. _"Damn it! That was close – _too_ close!"_ "Ah, I apologize," he gulped, averting his eyes from her at all costs.

"…it's…all right," he heard her answer, daring to glance through his peripheral vision to sneak a peak at her. She had one hand placed on her cheek, her pinky and ring fingers landing over her nose as she released a breath of surprise. Her eyes were wide while her face became bright pink. She pursed her lips at the memory of what happened, the corner of her mouth turned upward. This make him nearly choke in delight, forcing him to place his hands on the keys once more. "…Monsieur Erik?"

"Yes?" he asked, struggling to make his strangled voice sound smooth and alluring once more.

"Won't you play the whole thing? It's beautiful, what I've heard so far…"

He smiled at this, his eyes moving to the notes on the fine, expensive paper. "As you wish." So it was that he weaved his spell on, playing his composition as it trickled through the air lightly, suddenly transforming into a powerful crash and whirl of deep music before twirling above them and exploding into a soft, gentle bloom of sound. Just as he was starting once more, he stopped abruptly, placing his hands upon his lap.

"No, don't stop!" she pleaded, having closed her eyes and swaying along with the music.

He chuckled heartily, offering her his hand. "I should very much like to continue, however, I'm afraid that's all I have so far."

"That's a shame, but it's beautiful," she beamed, slipping her hand into his as he arose from his seat. "It reminded me of water…I can't explain it, but it sounded like a small trickling stream that transformed into a waterfall, then it crashed and flew into the air and became mist…!" She stopped, her blush deepening as she saw how he stared at her. "I…I got carried away-"

"That's exactly what I had in mind," he murmured, a thrilled rush filling his chest as he had watched her blurt out what she envisioned. He had seen the sparkle in her eyes as she explained what she heard, the adoration she felt for the music and its creator evident. She was in awe of it all, now worried that she may have said too much. He could see she had so much to say, so much to offer…her past and instilled fear held her back, though. He wanted to fix that, to teach her not to be afraid.

Taking both her hands, he told her, "Like Saint-Saëns, I wanted to bring a particular theme into mind when creating the music. My father created an opera before I was born…I had always hoped to follow in his footsteps and create something of my own…whether it be opera or melody, I want to publish something, something I'm truly satisfied with and know that it will be enjoyed by others because they, too, will be able to sense and imagine what I could."

"That's…incredible," she breathed, sensing his passion and honesty. She couldn't comprehend why she felt so warm around him, why his gaze made her shiver pleasantly. She liked the feel of his thin, strong hands holding hers…but if she listened and looked closely enough, she could have sworn that he sounded like…like _him_. His eyes glimmered in the light of the room, as though they couldn't decide whether they wanted to be black as night or as golden as daytime.

He smiled kindly at her, releasing her hands as he walked to the phonograph and set a disc down, placing the needle over the smooth item as Stauss's "The Blue Danube" drifted out of the metal cylinder. "You will be taking lessons from the Phantom on singing, correct?" he asked, turning about to face her.

"Yes," she answered, obeying as he waved at her to come forward.

"Then it is my job to teach you how to become a young lady fit for Parisian society," he informed her. "My sister has already spared me the pain of going shopping-" At this he earned a giggle from her, causing him to grin. "-now you will receive your first lesson from me. We will be trying out a simple waltz – the box step should be simple enough."

"Dancing?" she asked, torn between excitement and anxiety.

"Haven't you danced before?"

"N-No…I've always wanted to try, there was no way to back home."

Bowing to her, he spread his arms wide and held them in aloft in the air. "There's no time like the present, then. Let's begin." He bit his tongue as he tried not to laugh, watching her standing before him and looking him up and down as she decided what to do. "Step forward, my dear." She did so, mesmerized as he took her hand in his and placed her free hand on his shoulder before placing his hand lightly on her waist. "Now, with your left foot, take one step forward- no, don't move your other foot-!"

"Eep!" she squeaked, bumping right into his chest, sending him off balance for a moment. He recovered quickly, however in order to do so, he leaned forth, crushing their bodies together. "I-…I'm so sorry!" she gasped.

He laughed, his heart pounding madly at their proximity. "I should have been more specific with my instructions, Odette. Now, let's try it again. Move your left foot forward…good. Now slide your right foot up, but keep your feet separate…excellent. Now bring your left food back to your right foot…good. Now repeat, but this time go backwards…yes, good…there…congratulations, you just completed the box step."

"Oh!" she gasped, a light laugh escaping her. "Oh dear…that was…fairly easy. I don't suppose I could try again?"

"Of course," answered, guiding her once more. Removing his hand from her waist, he tucked his fingers under her chin and urged her to look up. "Don't look down…trust yourself. Let the music move you…let me guide you. Look up at me while we move…" He noticed how easily she blushed, and though her eyes darted away almost instantly, she forced herself to gaze at him once more, her green eyes hypnotizing him as he continued to lead the dance. They moved together as one, and though she stumbled a few times he was quick to catch her and get her back on track. Even after the music had died, they continued, until at last he smiled mischievously and sent her spinning away from him, his hand still holding hers.

"Oh!" she cried, her laugh of delight making his heart soar. Without a word from him, she acknowledged the gentle tug she received from him and spun around towards him, gasping as they collided once more, her hands resting upon his chest as he held her shoulders. "Dear me, I should have been more caref-" She stopped as she raised her face, seeing him looking down upon her, his head tilted so that if she stood on her tiptoes, her lips could touch his… _"Heavens! What am I thinking?!"_ She wanted to shake the thoughts out of her mind, but she couldn't move…she didn't want to move…and he certainly hadn't twitched a muscle, his eyes full of longing and confusion as he stared down at her. _"He seems so sad…but why? What could he be hiding?"_ An invisible force inexplicably drew her nearer, the urge to embrace him becoming stronger with each passing moment. As she moved her hand, wanting so badly to touch his face, he immediately released her, pulling away and hurrying to the phonograph.

"_Pardon_," he said quickly, shutting the machine off and avoiding her face. Leaning against the banister post of the stairs, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, his free hand curling into a fist. "I…I believe that's enough for one night," he said at last, straightening his posture and smoothing out his jacket. Absentmindedly, his hand came to rest just above his stomach, his brows furrowing as it his eyes glazed over.

"Are you hurt?" she asked softly, stepping towards him cautiously.

He faced her at once, blinking in surprise. "What? No, I…" Glancing down, Erik noted how his hand was upon his abdomen, a wry smirk growing on his lips. "I just had a thought…a memory, really, from my days in the Great War."

Her eyes widened at this. "You fought in the war? How long?"

"Three years," he answered grimly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head. "It was horrible…all that killing…sometimes at night, I-" He paused, biting his lip to restrain himself. There was no need to blab about nightmares and death to an innocent child.

"You don't have to tell me anything, and I have no right to ask," Odette spoke firmly, though her voice was still kind in tone. Stepping towards him, she clasped her hands together and studied his face. "But if there is something that torments you, it's best to let it out…share it with someone you trust. It will help ease the pain…whatever it is that bothers you." She smiled politely to him as he glanced over at her. She bowed her head and began to step away.

"Faces," he said quietly, stopping her in her tracks. As she turned back and gave him her full attention, he sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes late at night, I see faces of men I must have killed during my years there…or men around me in my battalion. They cry out and grab at me…sometimes I dream that I'm being buried with them." He didn't dare to mention that these faces would soon decompose into a corpse-like state that looked similar to his own face. He didn't quite understand why he felt so compelled to share with her…there was something about her presence, her very voice, that made him feel comforted.

She said nothing as he spoke, merely listened, her eyes watching him sympathetically. She took several steps towards him again, pausing as they stood face to face.

He pressed on a particular spot on his abdomen, looking her in the eye. "Just a few months before the war was declared over, I was shot…here." He saw the horror in her eyes, her clasped hands separating as one reached out to him but stopped halfway, dropping to her side. He couldn't help but smile as he realized she meant to touch him, possibly even check to see if he was still hurt. "I remember when I was unconscious…I heard the voices of those I loved…and I saw my parents. They've been dead for some years now, but there they were in my dream, urging me to wake up, that it wasn't my time to join them just yet…" Shaking his head, Erik sighed. "I survived, of course…however, I can't fathom why I did. Why am I still alive? Why was it so necessary for me to stay anyways…?" He sighed once more. "Hmph. Well…"

The feel of a small hand resting on his arm made him freeze, his eyes darting down to see Odette's hand resting upon his elbow. His sight soon landed upon her, seeing the shy smile on her perfectly painted pink lips. "…I don't know why they helped you back…but I'm glad they did. You're a good man, Monsieur Erik…I'm very happy to know you."

His breath hitched as he listened to her words, his eyes watering with unshed tears as he looked away and feigned a cough. "I…that's…thank you…thank you, Odette." She continued to smile, even as he took her hand in his and offered his arm to her. "Allow me to escort you to your room. It's getting late."

She accepted, taking the stairs with his company until they arrived at the second floor, the first door to the right left ajar. Guiding her, he pushed the door open and motioned for her to enter, grinning as she took in the sight with awe and delight. It was a quaint room, reminiscent of his sister's room in their cottage home back in Rouen, with simple linen curtains that concealed French doors. The bed was made with a soft blue coverlet, a plush bear sitting contentedly upon the pillows. The furniture was polished Elm wood, and the boxes of clothes stood neatly stacked off to one corner of the room. There was a door that stood beside the wall that stood wide open, revealing pink tiles on the floor, signaling the presence of a private bathroom. The beautiful glass lamps remained in the room, still rigged with electric lights, which he turned on with the flick of a switch. The most beautiful part, however, was the vase filled with red roses, standing upon the surface of her vanity.

"Oh…Monsieur, it's all so beautiful!" she sighed, leaving his side to caress and sniff each rose. "I can't believe that…that this is all for me…you're too generous."

"Nonsense," he waved it off, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I merely want you to be happy and comfortable here. I'm delighted to hear it's to you liking."

"I can't thank you enough," she said, spinning around when the bear on the bed caught her attention. "Oh, he's adorable!" she cooed, running to the stuffed animal and holding him in her arms as though he were a babe. "He's handsome…is he yours?"

"Yes…Mother made him for me as a child," he chuckled, amused at how she coddled the toy. He felt a pang of jealousy strike him as she saw her kiss its tiny black button nose. _"How mature of you, Erik, being jealous of your old toys."_

"You're leaving him with me?" she asked, facing him once more.

"I thought you might appreciate him," he shrugged, catching sight of the dazed look in her eyes as she stroked the bear's cheek.

"I used to have a bear once…Father threw it away when-" Her words ran dry, her eyes watering as she remembered something painful. He hesitated a moment, thinking about leaving when he heard her ask, "What's that?"

Casting his eyes in the direction she pointed, Erik found himself staring at the little golden music box on Odette's desk. His smile returned as he motioned for her to join him, turning the little hinge on the side modeled to look like a wild vine with a blooming rose as its knob. "My father made this for my mother as an anniversary gift before I was born…I thought you might like it also." Releasing the handle, Erik took the delicately crafted box in his hands and handed it over to Odette.

Cradling the circular, petite container, she gasped as the lid opened of its own to reveal an ornate interior. The inner lid was hand-painted with a choir of seraphim and cherubim scattering in the clouds, the golden rim from the outside cover acting as a frame around the concave dome. Out from the main compartment came a dancing couple, slowly twirling to the mysterious, romantic song that the mechanism contained. She squinted as she took in every detail of the unique couple – the lady was dressed in a beautiful white gown, her auburn locks flowing freely around her smiling face as she grasped onto the tall, dark figure who wore a white mask, leaving nothing exposed except his chin and lips, which appeared to show in a strange, yellowing color. He wore a wide-brimmed felt hat, his dark cape swirling around the two of them. Instantly, she recognized the figure.

"The Phantom…" Odette breathed, her head whipping around to see Erik standing by, watching with guarded interest. "But…this woman…?" She had seen pictures scattered on Erik's mantle in the parlor, and she remembered the face of one woman in particular, who stood by with a man that looked very much like Erik.

"My mother. She was one of a small group of people that was able to get close to him…he thought kindly of her, and he found that he could depend on her for anything…she was a dear friend to him."

Turning away to face the figurines spinning to a new tune now, she pressed her lips together into a thin line. "…but he's not the Phantom I know."

"No." He shook his head, listening to the dying notes of the song as the dancing couple sank back into their cavity and the lid closed upon them. "The Phantom we know today is the descendant of the Phantom you see here in the music box."

Odette caressed the glittering golden cover of the music box, remembering how the figures twirled over the wine colored floor placed within. She could almost image the two figures dancing on the stage of the _Garnier Opera_…but why would Erik's father pair his wife with the Ghost? Especially if this was an anniversary gift…? The music box only deepened her curiosity, resolve pushing her to find out just what was the true story behind the Chevaliers and the Opera Ghost.

"It's getting late…I'll let you get some rest," Erik informed her. "Tomorrow we'll be back at the Opera. I believe you have lessons tomorrow?"

"Yes," she nodded, setting the box down.

They stood before one another, uncertain and shy as they stole glances. "…well…I shall bid you good n-" He bit back a gasp as she took his hand and bent down, bowing to him as she placed a grateful kiss on his skin. "O-Odette-?"

"Thank you for letting me into your home," she murmured, rising once more though she still held onto his hand. "I truly am very thankful…to you, your family, and him." She was blushing again, realizing how forward she had been in touching him. "I-" It was her turn to gasp as he took both her hands and brought them to his mouth, cautiously kissing each one upon the knuckles before releasing his hold on her. There was something shining in his dark, glittering eyes…Hope? Anguish? Longing? She couldn't quite pinpoint it, but he murmured his "good-night" once more and left the room, shutting the door after him.

Her eyes fell on the music box once he had gone, her fingers reaching for the handle as she found herself in explicably drawn to it. Winding it once more, she watched as the figures appeared, continuing to taunt her as a new haunting tune danced around her. How intriguing, all this business of families befriending men who claimed to be ghosts… The dancing women, beautiful and radiant in a pristine wedding gown, smiled in the arms of a shade that gave an ominous sense of darkness, hurt, and possibly death…and yet, the two couldn't have been more perfect for one another. Taking the box with her to her bed, she sat down and thought deeply, wondering if perhaps God had meant for all this to happen…Erik Chevalier mentioned that his parents' spirits had visited him in the hopes of guiding him back to life, claiming his life wasn't to end yet…this Phantom claimed to help her, and though he terrorized her father, he treated her with the utmost courtesy and respect, watching her with eyes full of longing behind a mysterious white mask…the very same mask his predecessor donned.

"_What do You have planned for me, Lord?"_ she wondered, glancing towards the ceiling as the music died and the lid closed again. _"Why have You brought me here?"_

**~OG~**

"You're distracted," the Phantom said, noticing how Odette's eyes darted towards the floor, her voice suddenly melancholy. "What's the matter, my dear?"

"Nothing," she answered quickly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I…I'm just…" Biting her bottom lip, she wrestled with herself as he watched her from behind the mirror's glass. He refused to step out, lest someone catch them in the middle of a lesson, though he ached to be beside her. He reached out and rested his hand upon the glass, pressing his fingertips onto the surface, as though the glass would magically part at his will, separating the barrier between them.

"Mademoiselle Odette, if something troubles you-"

"It's my father," she blurted at last, unable to hold it back. "I'm worried about him. I know I shouldn't be, he's well under Pauline's care, but…I still worry for him. He's so very ill, and I haven't heard anything…but then, how can I? I haven't received a letter, and I never sent one, so-"

"So send one," he shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinked at him, staring in disbelief. "But-"

"I am not some terrible ogre, my sweet _Belle_. If you wish to receive a status report from the caretaker about your father, write a letter to them. I assure you, they've been receiving the payments necessary to care for themselves, so they are not without resources or finances."

"But…if anyone were to know…" Her thoughts flickered to charming Destin Monette, riding to the house and demanding to know what had happened. Knowing him, he probably _would_ think she'd been kidnapped, and burst into the Opera, or possibly Chevalier's home, demanding to take her back. The thought would have made her giddy back home, but having been placed in Paris for nearly a week now, she found the idea embarrassing, not to mention fearful. "I couldn't bear to place any of you in danger."

"Danger? Of what?"

"Oh, I don't know…there's a gentleman who knows my father and he's kind to me," she confessed. "If he were to know about what happened, I'm afraid he might try to call the police…" Facing the mirror, she reached out and placed her hand on the glass, positioning it so that it appeared that her hand was touching his. "And I don't think I could bear the thought of humiliating Monsieur Erik, or having you hurt…not after everything you've done for me and my father…and the kindness you've both shown."

Erik's golden eyes widened, glowing in the dark of the corridor he hid in. A small smile broke through as he placed his second hand upon the panel. "…you have a good heart, Odette. Thank you…but it would put my mind at ease if you did write a letter to them…I know it would make you happy." She smiled back brightly, placing her free hand over his so that their palms touched in a display of mutual caring, separated by a sheet of glass. "I'm rather jealous of Erik…he gets to take you into the city for outings and has a face while I…well, it's best if I stay here." He looked away, lowering his hands to his sides.

"Don't be," she insisted, her hands remaining on the glass. "You're both wonderful."

"Yes, but he's handsome," Erik rolled his eyes. _"How ironic that I should be talking about myself…and in jealousy, at that!"_

"My mother once told me that…that so long as the heart, mind, and soul of a person are beautiful and full of good intent, that their exteriors shouldn't matter," she answered back, sounding like an aged, kindly grandmother, not the timid teenager she was. Looking her gaze with his, she said firmly, "I believe that you have those three things, _Monsieur_…and in the end, that's all that really matters. _Monsieur_?!" she gasped, watching in fright as he clutched his chest, hid head bent down so that the brim of his hat concealed his face. "Are you hurt?! Where's the switch? Let me in!"

"_Non_…" he shook his head, his voice strained and choked. He didn't want her to see the tears in his eyes as he repeated what she had said in his mind. _"Oh, if only! If only I could show her and know that she wouldn't be repulsed by my face…!"_ "I'm…I'm fine, _mon Belle_," he reassured her, taking a deep breath and straightening himself once more. Clearing his throat, he stepped towards the mirror again, seeing her glistening eyes filled with panic. His smile returned at he joined his hands with hers upon the surface before him. "_Merci, mon petite_. Your words were…enlightening."

She smiled back, heaving a breath of relief. Her smile soon faded as she bit her lip once more, gathering her courage to ask him something that had shaken Chevalier. "…Monsieur…please don't be offended…but I must know…"

"Yes?" he asked, raising en eyebrow under his mask. He already had a very good idea as to what she wanted to ask, and he knew he couldn't hide it any more.

"…what is your name? Your real name?"

He looked away a moment, inhaling deeply before answering. "…I have no real name." He watched as she her eyes were filled with compassion and pity, prompting him to continue. "I inherited my face – or lack of a face – from my father. He was given no name from his mother. He was so hideous that she couldn't even bear to look at him. After he had met Chevalier's father, once he was a grown man and haunting the _Palais_, he liked the name 'Erik' so much that he adopted it. Chevalier named his second son Erik, and I, like my father before me, was not given an actual name…so I also took the name 'Erik'. I believe it bothers him, that I stole his name." He chuckled, amused by his ridiculous account. He wouldn't be surprised if the poor girl called him out on it. He hated lying to her, to sweet Odette who trusted both his personas, but what choice did he have? She could never know of his hideous countenance…he would never allow it.

"I see…" she murmured, mulling the information in her head. _"Ironic that he should have Erik's name also…I understand now why Monsieur Chevalier didn't want to say it…I was beginning to think his name was forbidden…like Rumplestiltskin."_ She bit back a giggle at this, though her brows remain furrowed. _"Odd how they're so very much alike, though…but that's silly…isn't it?"_ "I see…well, what may I call you? 'The Phantom of the Opera' is a mouthful, if you'll forgive me."

He grinned wryly at that, nodding his agreement. "I understand…you may call me whatever you wish. I'm sure having two Eriks around will start to confuse you." _"And me as well."_

She nodded when suddenly, the memory of the Ghost gathering her thirteen-year-old self out of the flames and falling through the air filled her mind…her guardian angel to the rescue. "…Angel…"

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, cocking his head.

"…Angel," she repeated, her gaze meeting his once more. A smile grew on her lips as she announced, "You were my Guardian Angel as a child, and continue to be one now…so you shall be 'Angel'."

He barked out a laugh at this, startling her. _"Oh, the irony! Are you watching this, Father? This is madness…yet, I wouldn't have it any other way."_ "I never imagined myself to be labeled with that name…very well. 'Angel' is it, then."

Odette leaned towards the glass, his breath hitching in his throat as he watched her lips. "_Mon ange_-" she said softly, her voice sending shivers down his spine.

"Mon Dieu, _how does she maintain this hold on me-?"_

"Phantom?! Phantom, is that you?!"

Both Opera Ghost and student jumped at the sound of a third frantic voice, the intruder's fist pounding on the door as the locked doorknob jiggled violently. "What is-?" Odette whispered, her brows furrowing together.

"It couldn't be…" Erik murmured, recognizing the voice.

"Odette, is that you in there?! Please, let me in!" the feminine voice pleaded.

Glancing back at her protector, Odette saw him nod in approval as he vanished from sight, melting into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, she strode to the door and cautiously unlocked it, stepping back with a cry of surprise as Jeanne Favre burst into the room uninvited. "_Mademoiselle_-?!"

"Where is he?!" Jeanne demanded, spinning around and checking every inch of the room.  
"What on earth do you mean-?"

"_Le Fantome_, Odette!" the young woman cried, grabbing a hold of the girl's shoulders. "The Phantom of the Opera – where is he?!"

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**A/N: **A big thank you to **Skylia** for pointing something out that may have confused other readers :)


	13. Ghosts of the Past

**A/N: **Thank you to **Skyila** (for catching a little clarification problem) and **Filhound** (for the Rumplestiltskin reference)! I also want to thank **EvaAuthor** (I forgot to add you in the last thank you note - my apologies!) and newcomer **M.B**. for joining and reading, I hope I don't disappoint :) Please don't forget to review and enjoy this next chapter! Thanks for your continued support everyone!

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen – Ghosts of the Past**

"The…Phantom?"

Odette bit her lip as she looked away. _"Oh dear…how could she know?!"_

"I heard his voice in here – you _must_ know!" Jeanne insisted, reaching for the mirror and pressing her hands against it. "I beg of you, tell me if you know! I haven't heard from him in weeks! All because of my engagement-!"

"_Mademoiselle_, please," Odette spoke, touching her shoulder tentatively. The last thing she needed was for Jeanne to fine the switch in the mirror's frame, which would only ensue in more questions and trouble. "Sit down…I'm sorry, but I'm rather confused…what's all this about engagements and phantoms?"

Jeanne's shoulders slumped as she let the girl guide her to the divan, plopping down and covering her face in woe. "Oh…you'll think I'm absolutely mad!"

"Tell me anyways," she insisted, sitting down beside her. "Please, _mademoiselle_-"

"Jeanne. Call me Jeanne," she sniffled, wiping her tears away hastily. Heaving a sigh, she took Odette's hands into hers and looked her in the eye. "You mustn't tell anyone, please? It's all so strange, and I can't help but believe in it!"

"I promise, I won't tell," Odette nodded. She couldn't help but wonder if her Angel was still watching and listening from behind the mirror, though she didn't dare glance in its direction, especially after the display that Jeanne just put on. "What is it? What's all this about a specter?"

"You must have heard about him…the Phantom…the Opera Ghost…"

"I've…only heard stories," she lied, staring at the woman innocently. "But surely that's all they are-"

"They're _not_," she insisted, leaning towards her with wide eyes, prompting Odette to lean away from her. "He's real…and he used to speak with me."

"He…he did?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Mistaking the sudden change in the girl as fear, Jeanne shook her head. "Oh, no! He wasn't awful or frightening at all! He was…rather romantic," she confessed, appearing ready to swoon at the memory of his voice.

Seeing her like this made an invisible shard of jealousy stab through her gut, making her grimace at the woman's reactions. "Then…you've seen him?"

"Well…no, that's the strange part," she blushed, her hand cupping her cheek. "I…I've never actually…that is, he never…"

"You never saw him?" Odette raised an eyebrow, shocked by what she heard.

Jeanne bit her lip, shaking her head as her face turned bright red. "…no. He never appeared. When I first joined the company here at the _Garnier_, I went to my dressing room and heard a beautiful voice singing…when I called out to him, he answered me in song…that was how communicated." She hugged her arms, her eyes glazing over as she remembered the past. "For two years, he tutored and comforted me…he was wonderful…I figured he was 'the Phantom' since I'd heard stories from workers and older employees like Madame Cecile that he had tutored another singer before me…one Christine Daae. Anyways, he wasn't at all what some of the stories made him out to be…he was thoughtful and sweet and just…he was a genius!"

Odette immediately began to regret thinking ill of the singer…Jeanne was just as mesmerized and amazed as she was of her Angel. "…but something happened?"

The woman nodded, clasping her hands over her heart as tears filled her eyes. "I…I got engaged. To Jonathan Joubert. He's such a sweet man, and he was always there for me…how I have said 'no'? When I agreed, I knew I had to tell the Phantom…but he…he said we had to part ways…that it was for the best. Almost as if to say 'You don't need me anymore'…but I do! I miss him, and I…" She held her breath, her eyes fluttering close as she whispered, "…I've fallen in love with him."

Odette gaped at her, dumbstruck by the news. A part of her wanted to cry while the other wanted to turn away scream. "…y-you…?"

"I know it's madness, but I've fallen in love with him! His voice…it's all I know about him, and all I'll ever need to know! I realize that it's a strange pair, me being here and him being…well, just a voice…a 'ghost', if that's what he is…but God help me, I've fallen in love with him." Lunging forth, she grabbed the girl's shoulders, startling her so much she almost fell of the divan. "Tell me where to find him, please! I'm begging you!"

"But I-"

"I know he was here with you – I heard your voices! I was passing through when I heard you talking. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I swear it, but when I heard him speak, I had to call out…I have to hear him again…I need him…oh…!" She crumpled in a heap, weeping before Odette as she covered her face. "Why did he go away? Why couldn't he still come back? Why is he seeing _you_ for that matter?!" Her head snapped up, her brown eyes glittering in defiance. "Why is he talking to _you_ now?!"

"Please, Jeanne, you must believe me – I had no idea what this was all about!" Odette pleaded, holding her hand up in a sign of surrender. "I don't know…I'm just as confused as you are. When I came here, he spoke to me…"

"You mean _sang_," Jeanne frowned.

"No, he _spoke_ to me," Odette shook her head. "He does sing, but he mainly speaks to me. He's also teaching me…he says I'm going to be an understudy for the chorus for the time being…I don't know why or how he chose me, but he did, and he comes and goes at his own will."

"Have you seen him then?!" Jeanne asked, grasping the girl's arms so tightly that Odette winced.

"No…not face to face…I saw a shadow in the corridor move once, but that was it, honest! Please, let go, you're hurting me!"

Jeanne shook her head, seeming to clear her thoughts as she quickly released the young girl from her hold. "I…I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…please forgive me?" she pleaded, clasping her hands over her heart once more. "I just…I wish I could talk to him, as you do. I have so many questions for him."

"I understand…it's all right," Odette answered, though she scooted away from the woman and rubbed her arms to make the pain subside. She eyed the woman warily, hoping that she kept her distance after what she had done. She refused to be handled that way by anyone…especially when in that crazed form.

"Will to talk to him for me? Please?" Jeanne asked softly, surprising the girl. "Just mention that I want to see him…at the very least hear him again, and give me an explanation as to why he just left and why he can't sing to me anymore."

She nodded, eager to get away from her as soon as possible. "I'll mention it whenever he appears again…I promise."

Smiling brightly at her, Jeanne placed her hand upon her shoulder and gave her a light squeeze. "Thank you, Odette…you're a sweet girl." Rising from her seat, she excused herself and exited the room, shutting the door after her and walking down the hallway. She stopped after a few paces, hiding behind a wooden pillar and watching the doorway. Minutes later, Odette emerged, alone, and shut the door after her before taking off in the opposite direction, most likely towards the managers' office. She held her breath, counting to thirty before scurrying back and trying the door handle once more. Her brows furrowed as she realized it was locked. _"But that's impossible! Odette didn't lock the door after her, and she carried no key…unless…"_ She stared at the knob, wondering what occurred beyond the door and walls between Chevalier's young ward and her old tutor. _"It's not fair…why did he leave me? Was I not good enough? Didn't I show that I loved him? Was it just because of Jonathan?...or could it be that…that he wanted someone new…?"_ Agony filled her breast as she leaned against the wood, sliding down until she sat on the floor, weeping silently in her solitude. _"Odette…she's my only link to my darling Phantom now…I need to befriend her, otherwise…I may lose him forever!"_

**~OG~**

"Is something the matter?" Erik asked over supper, seeing how she poked at the food on her plate.

Odette shook her head, staring dejectedly at the fish she had prepared that evening for them.

Erik frowned. She had been like this since he had left her with Jeanne. He didn't wish to intrude on their privacy, so he had started to leave the two females to hurry and change into his modern clothes and mask, becoming Chevalier and shedding the alias of "Angel". However, he heard their conversation despite himself, thus he watched what had happened and was shocked to see Jeanne react so desperately, almost violently, against Odette. The way the teenager drew back after nearly being assaulted by the singer did not escape his eye. Still, he was grateful that Odette had made up a story and hadn't revealed their secrets to the young woman. Odette had left the room in a hurry, allowing him to step out and lock the door from the inside. As he had slipped the key into his pocket and entered the mirror, he froze at the sound of someone tugging at the door. At first he thought it might have been Odette, until he heard someone start to cry. _"Jeanne,"_ he realized, holding back a tired sigh. No, he wouldn't talk to her…not now. Not after the way she acted to Odette…she was frantic now, desperate, and he knew from experience when she got that anxious, it was best to let her relieve herself through her tears and come back at a later time when she had a clear head.

So it was that he changed and found Odette waiting in the office, speaking politely with his elder brother. He took her home for the afternoon, and she remained silent for the rest of the day, making him worried as she refused to speak. He sighed, setting his fork down. He wasn't sure he could take much more of this silent torture…and she looked utterly miserable. Why did the conversation with Jeanne upset her so?

"Monsieur Erik," she said softly, startling him out of his thoughts. "…may I be frank with you?"

"Of course, my dear," he nodded, his brows furrowing at this. _"Well, at least she's talking."_

"_Monsieur_…how do you stop being jealous?"

He stared at her a moment, processing her question with amusement and confusion. "Jealous? You? Of what or whom, may I ask?"

"I…" Her face became that familiar shade of pink again, causing the corners of his mouth to turn up. "It's…you'll think I'm horrible." She gasped as he placed his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze.

"I'll be the judge of that," he said gently, his eyes locking with hers. "As you said to me yesterday, it's a good idea to let out whatever is bothering you. Come, my dear, what troubles you so?"

Her large, beautiful emerald orbs filled with tears as she broke her gaze from his. "…Jeanne Favre!" she confessed, a mortified sob escaping her.

He blinked in bewilderment. "Mademoiselle Favre? But why-"

"She _knew_ him, _Monsieur_! She knew Angel!" she wept.

"Angel?" he repeated softly, fighting back a small, tender smile.

"I…I mean the Phantom," she choked, her fingertips rubbing her eyes.

"Why would you ever be jealous of Mademoiselle Favre? I thought that…that she was engaged to Jonathan Joubert." He had force the words out of his lips, the sting of the memory of his sudden proposal still fresh in his mind.

"It's just…he tutored her, in a way…she says he sang to her…and then he just stopped once he found out that she was engaged…and she's fallen in love with him…well, his voice, anyways."

He looked away from her at this. He could still remember standing behind the mirror and reeling back in shock from hearing Jeanne profess her love for a voice she had never seen in person. It was heart-wrenching…he felt terrible for leaving the way he did, but really, what good could come from loving a voice with no face? She was already so happy with Joubert, and she didn't care for him as Chevalier…really, it was better that he stopped it then and there, wasn't it?

"What bothers me is that he never said anything to me about Jeanne!" she fumed. "Why didn't he tell me? Why did I have to learn about it through her? And she frightened me, Monsieur Erik – she was desperate to hear him again, _so_ desperate! I just…" She shook her head, new tears sliding down her cheeks. "I sympathize, I really do…but I can't fathom why I feel so jealous! I just don't know what to think or want anymore…especially when it comes to _him_! Oh, I'm just awful and selfish!"

"No…no, don't say that," he cooed, rising from his seat and kneeling before her, taking his kerchief from his coat pocket. "Allow me." Tenderly, he dried her eyes, his fingertips brushing over her moist cheeks as he used the cloth to wipe away her tears. "There…that's better," he smiled sweetly, his thumb passing by the corner of her lips to collect the last tear. She shivered at this, her blush deepening even more so. "Listen to me, Odette," he said, taking her hands in his. "You're in a new society now…so many things have changed your you, and you've barely been here a week. It's perfectly normal that you'd feel confused…and as for 'Angel'-" he smirked, seeing her duck her head at the mention of his new name. "…as for him, he does have a strange sort of presence that tends to attract most people to him, whether he knows it or not." _"Apparently, now I do."_ "At any rate, I'm certain that he didn't want you to be concerned about what happened. I don't think he did that to spite you…from what I remember, the poor man was infatuated with our _prima donna_…however, that first week they announced the engagement, he was glum. I can only surmise what he felt…" His voice nearly cracked at this, prompting him to clear it and continue. "He must have realized that it would never work, this infatuation between the two of them…so he let her go…and then you came and surprised us all."

He had her attention once more, chuckling as she looked at him shyly. "You were that ray of sunshine we all needed. I myself was going through a bit of trouble myself when he approached me and asked if I would be willing to take you in as my ward."

"You, _Monsieur_? You had trouble?" she asked, rubbing her eyes one last time.

Nothing serious, I assure you," he promised. "Just…an early mid-life crisis, you might say," he winked, pointing to his dark hair, streaked lightly with stray strands of silver. "I made it through a war and I'm trying to manage an Opera House with a Phantom terrorizing it occasionally, a chorus-master and ballet mistress that do not get along, and my brother is co-manager and co-owner. That's enough to drive the janitor mad."

She laughed at his jests despite herself, her face making his heart full of joy.

"That's better," he grinned, taking her hands and kissing them both. "Believe me, Odette, neither one of us wishes to harm you in any way…I am certain he would have told you himself…perhaps he, too, isn't sure of what he thinks or wants." _"'Perhaps'? That's an understatement at this point."_ Hesitant, he removed one of his hands and reached for her face, his fingers shaking as he dared to touch her. She made no sign of protest, closing her eyes and leaning into his palm as he pressed it to her cheek, his fingers touching the tips of her short hair. She covered his hand with hers, sparks shooting through the two of them as they opened their eyes and gazed once more at one another.

"Thank you, Erik…_Monsieur _Erik," she corrected herself, biting her lip in embarrassment. She accepted another kiss on her hands, her blood rushing through her veins as she felt a comforting, warm feeling wash over her. _"How does he do that…how do they _both _do that? Both Angel and Erik have some magical spell over me…each one is unique, though…what does it all mean?!"_

**~OG~**

_Two Weeks Later…_

"_Mademoiselle_!"

The voice of one of the younger girls, Rachelle, quickly earned her attention just as Odette took her seat with the Chevalier family in Box Four. Everyone glanced over their shoulders to see the little red-headed child with plaits and freckles poking her head into the private room, not the least bit shy to brazenly appear.

"Pardon," she chirped cheerfully to the others. "Mademoiselle Odette is needed – Aline has fallen ill, and the understudy's away for the week, remember _monsieur_?"

"What?!" Gerard nearly yelped over the din of the incoming patrons. "Did Herriot send you to tell us-?!"

"No, _monsieur_, that was Madame le Plume. She said that Herriot was a rat's posterior – do pardon me – and that Mademoiselle Odette has learned the role quickly as is best suited to play the Cook since the others are gone."

"M-Me? Right _now_?" she paled. "I…" A hand landed upon hers, and she soon found herself looking into Erik's dark eyes, glimmering gold in the darkness of their private box.

"You don't have to do this…but if you chose to, know that I have every confidence in you…and so does _he_." He winked at this, patting her hand comfortingly as she took a deep breath and kissed his hand, making his heartbeat accelerate within seconds.

"Please excuse me," she said to the family, rising from her chair. "Lead the way, Rachelle."

"Yes! I knew you would come!" the seven-year-old ballet rat beamed, taking her arm and tugging her away from them. "You're wonderful, Miss Odette…!"

"Such a little darling," Madeleine grinned at the child tugging at Odette's hand. Glancing over at Erik, she could see that her brother was gripping the armrests of his seat as he stared at the heavy stage curtains. "Nervous for her, Erik?"

"Don't be absurd," he scoffed, still gripping the sides of his chair. "She'll be fine…I know it…"

"Then stop twitching," Eddie smirked.

Gerard reached towards his little brother, placing his hands on his shoulder. "Perhaps you should sit in Box Five…?"

Erik gaped at him, stunned by the suggestion. His brother had never been a fan of him playing the Opera Ghost…and yet, he felt that Box Five was exactly where he should be. Giving his brother a grateful smile, he excused himself and left the room instantly.

"Maman, where's Uncle Erik going?" Alain asked, raising an eyebrow at his family.

"Someplace he should be," Suri answered vaguely, glancing over the darkened, neighboring box. Even after all these years, they had never sold Box Five. Gerard couldn't bear the thought of giving it away after the stories his father had shared with him, and Erik…well, every one of the adults in this box – Gerard, Suri, Eddie, and Madeleine – they all knew why Erik forbade anyone to enter Box Five. It was "the Phantom's" domain, after all.

"I suppose he's off for a costume change," noted Eddie with a chuckle.

"And flowers," Madeleine smiled, placing her hand over her growing belly. "If I know Erik – and the 'ghost' – he's gone off to find something to congratulate her with once the performance is over…red roses, most likely…after all, it's the way things are done with him."

**~OG~**

Odette was utterly petrified as she let the maids help her into her costume and wig. She had never performed for anyone, expect Angel, and she was suddenly thrust into an already rushed and delayed performance that people were anxious to see. _"I can't do this…"_ Doubt gnawed at her stomach, her heart pounding wildly within her chest. _"I can't sing in front of all these people…it's…I just-!"_ Stepping out onto the stage, her eyes were instantly drawn to Box Five, a shadowy figure peeking out from behind the lavish curtains draped in the private box. A pair of golden eyes flickered in the darkness, a sense of calm washing over her as she realized who watched her from the shadows.

"_Just sing…sing for_ him_…and for Erik."_

Right on cue, she sang out to the audience, her voice rising and falling in time to the orchestra. All the while she could feel his gaze on her, the need to make him proud filling her chest.

After what had happened with Jeanne and the discussion she had shared with Erik, she didn't want to ruin things by arguing with her Angel…arguing only brought pain and anger, and anger brought out the worst of everyone…she had had enough of that from her father…so she bit her tongue, telling herself it was none of her business to be poking into his affairs…after all, she wanted him to tell her because he chose to, not because she was a meddling nuisance. So life went on, as her first days had gone, blissful and enchanting, her singing progressing so much that Erik convinced the pompous chorus-master to allow her to join as an understudy. She was bright and sharp, and since the play was rather short in comparison to most of the other shows that were performed, she memorized most of the parts rapidly and accurately.

_The Nightingale_ went on, with Jeanne leading them in the main role. She sang and twirled daintily on the stage, the star of the evening, but even so, two pairs of eyes remained solely on Odette even when she wasn't singing. When at last the opera came to a close, everyone stepped forth and bowed deeply before dispersing behind the curtain. The youngest of the ballet rats scurried to Odette's side, giggling and smiling as they congratulated her on her debut. She kissed them all on their noses and sent them off before running away to her dressing room, eager to separate herself from the throng of admiring patrons that would soon fill the halls in search of their favorite performers.

Pulling her wig off, Odette ran her fingers through her still-growing midnight locks and heaved a tired sigh when the rich aroma of flowers piqued her attention. Looking around the room, her mouth formed a little "o" of surprise as she saw several bouquets placed on any flat surface available. She checked them all, reading the little cards that came attached to the vases, smiling as she found that most of them were from the Chevalier family, namely Erik. A few others had been sent from admirers in the crowd and placed in her room just before she had arrived, but her thoughts were already on the gentleman who had opened his arms and heart to her.

Setting the wig onto the mannequin head on the vanity, she blushed at the thought of him, though her forehead was soon wrinkled with ridges as she wondered where Erik had been nearly the entire performance. Several times she glanced towards Box Four, and she could not recall a time she saw his face amongst his family though he was the one who encouraged her...and yet, Angel had remained in Box Five the whole time, watching over her. Shaking her head, she peeled her lackluster costume off of her body before scouring the wardrobe and selecting a pale green gown, a shell of delicate lace starting at the waist and billowing out around the lower portion of the dress. Using the zip-fasteners, she secured the slip of cloth onto her body, raising an eyebrow as she noticed how she had gained weight. She was no long the stick-thin figure that had arrived over a fortnight ago…though still slim, she filled her dresses nicely now, even starting to develop some curves. Pleased with herself, she brushed her boyish bangs out of her face when a tap at the full-length mirror caught her attention. Spinning around, she beamed as she hurried to the mirror and frantically fumbled for the switch, allowing her mentor passage into her room. "Angel!"

"_Mon Belle_," he smiled, his eyes glistening with tears. "You were perfection."

"Not at all," she shook her head, her cheeks bursting with blush once more. "I only played the Cook. Jeanne was the perfect one – she was simply gorgeous, and-" His hand hovered over her mouth, his fingertips a breath away from her lips, drying the words that were about to fall off her tongue.

"The only one I saw tonight was you," he spoke softly, a tingling sensation trickling through his body as he drank in her innocent, bewildered beauty. "You did beautifully for your debut…someday, you may even have the title role. You could have Paris at your feet-!"

"I don't want Paris," she said quietly, her eyes downcast as she took a step away. "…all I want is to make you happy…and proud."

His throat dried as he heard her speak, his trembling fingers reaching for her cheek when he paused, lowering his hand as he realized how presumptuous he was being. Instead, he slipped his hand into his jacket and withdrew a single red rose, a white ribbon tied around its stem with a sterling silver chain hanging on its side, a single charm in the shape of a heart twirling in the air. "For you."

"Oh…oh, you shouldn't have!" she gasped, her eyes lighting up. "You spoil me!"

"I like to, and you should be…you appreciate it and never ask for anything, so I bring you mere trinkets for your amusement," he smirked, handing the flower over to her. She sniffed it velvet petals before caressing the ribbon, gently tugging it loose and catching the charm bracelet in her hand. "May I…?"

"Please," she nodded, letting him take the jewelry and clip it around her tiny wrist. "Oh…it must have cost a fortune," she whispered, running her fingers over the surface of the solid heart.

"Money is nothing, especially not when it concerns you," he said softly, daring to reach for her cheek again. "…Odette, I-"

A sharp rap on the door made them jump in surprise. "Hello? Mademoiselle Delacroix?"

"Go!" she hissed, watching him slip back behind the mirror and slide the glass into place. Holding the flower to her chest, she smoothed her dress out and walked to the door, unlocking the handle before tugging it open. Her eyes widened at the sight of a face she did not image she would see again. "Monsieur Monette?!"


	14. Illusions Shattered

**Chapter Fourteen – Illusions Shattered**

"Odette! So it _is_ you!" Destine Monette laughed merrily, taking her hand and kissing it with a wide grin. "I never imagined you'd be on the stage of the _Garnier_! So _this_ is where you've been all this time!" He offered her a large, bountiful bouquet, placing it in her small hands. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," she smiled, stepping aside for him. "_Monsieur_-!"

"Please, Odette, I've told you before, call me Destin," he scolded her cheerfully, hugging her at once. "I was wondering what happened to you. When I came by to visit a fortnight ago, your father claimed he had no idea what happened to you-!"

"I was…taken in as a ward by the Chevalier family," she answered cautiously, her smile wavering for a moment. "Monsieur Chevalier heard me sing and took me in – I'm to take singing lessons and he promised Papa would be taken care of."

"I see…that's very generous of him," he noted, scratching cheek in contemplation. "Well, you simply must allow me to congratulate you – you were astounding!"

"You're too kind," she blushed as he kissed her hands once more. "I had no idea you were in Paris."

"I just came in yesterday. I heard about the show, and I do like to attend every so often…I'm certainly glad I decided to come. I must confess…I was, well, rather worried when your father said he didn't know what had happened to you." Kneeling before her, he softly squeezed her hand, his eyes full of pleading. "You have no idea how much I missed seeing you, Odette."

"W-What-?" she gasped, taking a step back as her face flushed bright pink. "Destin-?!"

"Odette, will you let me take you out to supper?" he asked, rising to his feet once more to bow deeply to her. "To celebrate your great success…and having found you once more."

"I…I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"Say 'yes'," he smiled, leaning forth and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I won't take 'no' for an answer! I'll be out in the alley – the one to the west of the theater façade. I trust you'll find me easily, I'll be waiting for you. I'll give you a moment to yourself." Winking, he bowed once more before letting himself out, shutting the door after him as she stood stock still, in utter disbelief of what was happening.

Glancing down at the flowers, she traced the lines of the petals, her mind swirling with colors and thoughts that seemed as confused and clashed as the flowers before her. "Destin…?"

"How do you know each other?"

She gasped at the deep, dark, ominous rumble of Angel's voice as he stepped out from the mirror, his eyes narrowed at her. She stared in awe at him, unable to believe that he was so rattled at the entrance of her old friend. "I…he knew my father first, he lent him money. He was always kind to us…he brought me little things, food, supplies…nothing much, really. Whatever is wrong?"

"_He_ is," he growled. "Everything about that man is wrong."

Her brows furrowed at this, her blood boiling within her veins as she took a step towards him. "Just what specifically about him is so awful?"

"I've watched him come here for years. I think very little of that cad," he sneered contemptuously. "He's a self-righteous aristocratic pig that takes anything he can get his hands on. This little display he put on? Sickening, really. He does that to every woman he takes." He instantly regretted the words that flew out of his mouth when he saw the pained look in her eyes as she listened to him, her fingers curling so tightly around the flower stems that her knuckles turned white.

"Y-You're…you're lying," she shook her head, remembering all the kind smiles and chivalrous gestures Monette did towards her. "He's…he's not like that-!"

"I've seen him take all kinds of women, poor or rich, and charm them until he had his way," her Angel spoke softly, but his words were needlepoints stabbing at her heart. "He throws them away and moves on, as though they're handkerchiefs for his disposal…I don't want that to happen to you-"

"What does it matter to you about me?!" she snapped, startling him so much his jaw nearly dropped. "You don't care about me in that manner, anyways, and you're not my father! You can't tell me who I can and can't see!"

"Who said that I don't care about you that way?!" he bellowed, his eyes widening as the words mindlessly escaped him. He was certain everything was ruined, that she would gawk at him in disbelief…but it was far worse than that.

"_Lies_!" she screamed, throwing the flowers to the floor and covering her ears. "Y-You say that, but you're in love with Jeanne, and she loves you! How could you have done that to her anyways?! Do you realize how deeply infatuated she is with you?! Do you? You up and left her without so much as an explanation to your feelings, and she is heartbroken…how _dare_ you hurt her, and how _dare_ you order me not to see Destin when you clearly don't care for me the way you do for her!"

It was as though her tongue had transformed into a whip, the fury and truth she had been holding back, the conflict and frustration she wanted to avoid mercilessly beating him in its invisible form. "Y-You…you don't know anything about what I've been through!" he fought back, pointing at her accusingly, though his fingers shook so much he thought he might collapse. "You have no inkling as to what I feel for either her or you-!"

"That's exactly the problem, I don't know, and it drives me mad!" Tears burst forth from their prisons as she sobbed angrily. "I can't decipher what I feel for Destin, for Erik, or even for you! How can I when you don't even know yourself, and yet you continue to weave this strange, beautiful hold on me?! I can't take it anymore!" Turning on her heel, she burst out of the room.

"Odette!"

"Leave me alone!" she cried, shoving past the throngs as she sobbed on, fighting to find her way to the other side of the theater. Ignoring the stares of irritation and confusion that followed, she felt her heart ache, her conscience hailing curses at her for losing her temper at him, her teacher, her friend, her guardian angel…and yet, she had borne her soul and thoughts before him that night, confessing just what it was that tormented her, ever since Jeanne burst into her room. Wiping her face clean, she hoped that Destin wouldn't inquire as to her current state. She wasn't sure how to explain that the "Phantom of the Opera" was her instructor and was strict about who she could and could not see.

Arriving at the side door, she took a deep breath to steady herself, shaking her head to clear her thoughts of what Angel had told her. _"It's not true…it can't be!"_ Quietly, she slipped outside into the warm August evening air, starting to close the door when a most inappropriate squeal and grunt of delight made her head whip around. Her brows furrowed as she squinted at the semi-wall of crates that were formed against the wall of the Opera House. There was movement behind it, causing her to wonder just who or what was hiding behind it. _"Cats? Dogs…?"_

"I knew you couldn't resist me, Destin," a sultry voice chuckled as another indecent sound joined her words. "So, didja bring the wife?"

"Never got married," Destin's husky voice growled, frighteningly feral and greedy. "The witch eloped with some man to England or something…doesn't matter, I'll have Odette instead. How would _you_ like to be my mistress, Valerie?"

"Ha! With the way you get with me, I might as well be your 'wife'," she snickered. "Hmm…so this 'Odette', she your lady?"

"Not yet," he said, his voice sinister as he whispered to the prostitute. "Her father's promised her to me. She's his only way to really pay me off for all the money and time I've given him over the years. But I want her…there's no way she's getting out of this little arrangement."

"What is she catches us?"

"She won't. Now shut up and hold still…"

Odette clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. She was frozen in shock and disgust, listening to the pair grunt and sigh behind their hiding place. Her body shook as her innocence wavered, realizing what he was doing, realizing that her Angel was right…

An arm wrapped itself around her waist, a hand covering her mouth and stifling her cry of surprise and fear. "Hush," she heard Angel whisper, her body relaxing as she allowed him to quietly guide her back into the building and down the hall into the empty seamstress's room. It wasn't until he shut the door of the abandoned quarters that she finally felt her knees give out from under her, her face buried in her hands as her body shook violently with sobs.

"_Mon Dieu_, you were right!" she wept, feeling his presence behind her. Out of her blurry peripheral vision, she could see his hands hesitantly hovering just above her shoulders, uncertain whether or not to touch her. "You were right all along…he's awful! And…and my father-…he _sold_ me!" She gripped her short locks, tugging at them in agony. "And all those horrible things I said just now to you…! Forgive me, Angel, please-!"

"Odette," his shaky, tender voice seeped into her ears, his hands finally landing lightly upon her arms. "Odette, please don't cry…he's not worth your tears-" He choked on his words as she spun around and groped at his fine jacket and shirt, pressing her forehead against his chest.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry!" she breathed, her tears never stopping. "Angel, I-!"

"Odette," he sighed, finally wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest. "Don't cry…I'm sorry it had to be like this…I just…I didn't want him to hurt you…he still managed to harm you without even touching you…I only wanted to protect you, _mon Belle_…" Once more, she was in his embrace, as she had been four years ago, trusting and frightened. Scooping her into his arms, he began to rise to his feet when he was struck back by a memory he never experienced. He saw a man, dressed just as he was, holding a woman in his arms as she embraced him tightly, relief washing over her as he cautiously stroked her hair. _"Mother…Father?"_ Shaking his head, he held her close and carried her off, opening the hidden door in the wall before slipping into the darkness and walking through the secret passages, humming songs to the weeping girl in his arms.

He shivered as he felt her breathe shallowly on his neck, her breath warm and released in soft puffs as she fought to control her tears. She wrapped one arm around his neck while her other hand continued to grasp the lapel of his coat. His cloak swished around them silently, a shield from the elements of the cellars and sewers. The old torches that continued to light the way side by side with new electric lights installed gave a strange, eerie glow that cast an assortment of shadows on the walls.

He ignored it all – he ignored everything around him, his attention solely on the broken young woman in his arms. He avoided the lake – he didn't want to part with her, not while she was clinging to him so desperately. How he ached to feel this emotion – this tingling, fiery, consuming warmth that burned to his core, and now that he had it, he never wanted it to leave. He'd never had a woman cling to him so – he never thought it would happen…yet here she was, this sweet, innocent girl, depending on him or she may shatter altogether. He continued to sing to her, comforting and romantic songs he only dreamed of singing to a woman he felt strongly for. She drank them in, her sobs becoming less frequent as they entered his underground home, never letting go of him. Stepping quickly, he entered her room and placed her upon her bed, thinking she would slip her arm off and lie back to sleep.

She did no such thing.

"Angel…forgive me, please?" she murmured in his ear, her sobs reduced to sniffles as her eyes slowly dried out, her cheeks sticky from the ordeal.

"_Mon Belle_, you earned it the moment I found you and brought you inside once more," he spoke softly, daring to reach up and run his fingers through her boyish locks. "You were right, in some ways…I heard your conversation with Jeanne Favre. I did care for her…I was infatuated with her voice…but I was frightened."

"Frightened?" she echoed, looking up at him with those lovely green eyes, still moist and glistening form crying.

"This," he pointed to his mask, his hand dropping at once as he gave a mournful sigh and looked away. "I let myself fall in love when I knew I couldn't have her…I didn't want her to see my face…so I became just a voice to her. When she got engaged, however…it was as though…as though a rock smashed through the illusions and hopes I'd had and snapped me out of a dream-like trance. People can't marry or love voices."

"No…but they can love people." She placed her small hand upon his masked cheek, her brows furrowing as she saw him stiffen. "You are a wonderful man, Angel…why do you let your mask rule your life?"

"My mask does not rule – it is my face that creates a barrier between me and the world," he answered, placing his hand over hers in the hopes of removing it from his face. "This is why I wear it, and why I hid from Jeanne."

"But you don't hide from me."

He shook his head, another soft sigh escaping him. "No, I don't. Then again, our encounter was imposed."

"I don't regret meeting you," she whispered suddenly, stretching her neck so that she might place her lips, light as a butterfly, against his exposed chin. "She wouldn't have either." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she embraced him, resting her head on his shoulder. She heard the strangled gasp that he fought to contain, his torso crumbling at her touch. "Have you never been kissed?" she asked, tears pricking at her eyes once more as she realized what she had done to make him react so.

"…no…only by my mother," he confessed, tears streaking down his mask as his arms remained stiff at his sides, like gnarled tree branches left bare at wintertime.

"Hold me," she whispered, curling deeper against him as he placed his hands upon her back.

"Odette…!" he choked.

"Angel…promise me you'll speak with Jeanne again…please, don't leave things the way they are. She pines for you…at least explain to her what you told me." She asked the impossible of him – just how could he tell Jeanne all that he shared with Odette? It wasn't the same…still, her voice, once powerful and free, sounded so small and weak, asking him one request.

"As you wish," he relented at last. "I can deny you nothing."

"Oh, Angel," she whispered, pulling away so she might peck his masked cheek. She wished so badly to rip the mask from his face, but seeing the agony he withheld from her, the terror he felt at the idea of being seen, she buried that desire deep into her heart. She would not hurt him, even if it drove her mad. He shuddered and sigh as he received her second kiss, gazing down at her with eyes full of questioning and adoration. She smiled at him, hopeful that all would be well, when she recalled Destin's charming face grinning at her, his voice a double-edged sword, his tongue that of a snake's as she remembered what he had spoken with the unknown woman.

"My dear, you're shaking!" he said, placing his hands on her cheeks to gently direct her face towards his. His brows furrowed with concern as he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's…what about Destin?" she asked, genuine fear shining in her eyes. "My father promised me to him as a form of payment…he won't let me go now. Angel, what am I going to do-?!"

"He will _never_ have you," he growled, his eyes burning like coals. "I shall alert the Chevalier family and we will all be on our guard. Men like him can be bought off – we'll find a way to be rid of him so you may be free, Odette…I swear it." He dipped his head forth towards her, pausing suddenly and pulling away, grateful for the mask that covered his reddening cheeks.

"…don't be afraid of me," she pleaded, her fingers running over his pale, semi-transparent lips.

He blinked at her, startled by her words. She inclined her head towards him, making it clear that she would accept his token of affection. Trembling, he leaned forth once more, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His heart ached to take her in his arms and kiss her whole face, her forehead, nose, eyelids, cheeks, chin, lips…

"Mon Dieu_…I'm in love with her!"_

**~OG~**

Jeanne set her bag down as she entered her dressing room, shutting the door before she hurried to the mirror. She was certain her hair was a mess after the way she rushed out of her apartment to get to the _Palais Garnier_. Heaving a sigh, she sat down at her vanity and began to toy with her strawberry-blonde locks, pulling pins out of her tangled tresses before starting to restyle her hair once more. Her mind was full of things she was concerned about at the moment other than her hair – preparations for her wedding in December, the dinner party she was supposed to host at the end of August, her mother's slowly improving health, the wait for the announcement on the next production at the Opera House, her weak and strained relationship with Odette in trying to find out more about the Phantom…

She sighed, propping her elbows on the table and setting her face into her open palms. She must have frightened Odette quite a bit when she barged into her room nearly a fortnight ago – Odette fought to stay away from her and answered vaguely whenever the conversation turned to discussing the mysterious tutor they both shared. Jeanne chewed her lip, anxious to know what was going on. It wasn't fair that he suddenly decided to stop speaking to her and choose a new student, not when she pined for him so…

"Mademoiselle Favre."

She stiffened at the sound of the velvety, rich tenor voice that filled the room. The male voice had spoken, not sung out, which made her gasp in shock. "Phantom…is that you?!"

"_Oui, mademoiselle_…it is I."


	15. To Be Suddenly Unmasked

**A/N: **A big thank you to my mysterious reviewer **M.B.** (Thank you for getting me back on track and reminding me why I'm writing - because I love it :) I'd love to write you a nice long response but I don't want it plastered onto the chapter, so let me just say "thank you" for caring enough to read and review the story as well as giving valuable insight on how to improve.) I own nothing except the OCs and crazy idea to continue this fanfic. I hope you all enjoy and please don't forget to let me know what you think! See you next time!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen – To Be Suddenly Unmasked**

"Phantom!" Jeanne gasped, clasping her hands together as she arose from the vanity and cast her eyes to the ceiling. "You came!...and you're…speaking?" She raised an eyebrow at this. Hearing him chuckle, she shivered at the pure power she felt from his voice.

"Yes…I do speak. However, when it came to you, _mademoiselle_, I felt that song was best…you are a singer after all. Music is my specialty, and I wanted to keep my anonymity."

"Why?" she demanded, frowning. "Why do you hide from me? For nearly two years you sang to me, helped me, comforted me…you were everything to me! Then Jon proposed and…" She choked on her own words, inhaling deeply before continuing. "And you were gone. Just like that." She snapped her fingers angrily, shaking her head at him. "Do you have a grudge against Jonathan Joubert, is that it? Or do you wish-" She paused, closing her eyes before continuing, her heart thumping a little faster within her breast. "…do you wish that I remain yours alone? Because you must already know, whether you overheard it or the child told you…I've fallen in love with you."

It was deadly silent in the room, a horrible sensation washing over her as she panicked that he might have up and left at the mention of her feelings towards him. As she opened her mouth to speak again, she heard him sigh wearily.

"Jeanne…you do not love me. You love this voice."

"Of course I love your voice, it is all I know of you!" she pouted. "If you have never shown yourself, how can I love you? Show yourself!"

"I cannot, and will not," he answered firmly, his tone deepening, signaling that his word was absolute. "This was not meant to be-"

"Then you mean to tell me you feel nothing for me?!" she demanded. "You felt absolutely nothing in all that time? All those romantic solos and enchanting duets we shared to express ourselves, all the practices we completed together…you felt nothing for me?" Her voice weakened as she argued, afraid of what he might respond to her.

"I was…enamored with your voice, your beauty…but I was never able to go with you to places you wished to see. Joubert can do all that and more," the Phantom answered.

"Surely you can do those things also?!" she pleaded desperately.

"I can, but not as he does. I can never show my true face…those who see it do not live to tell the tale, or disappear."

"Don't be so melodramatic-"

"_I'm not_."

She shook at the magnitude of his voice, seeming like thunder that crackled suddenly through a perfectly clear sky. "B-But-"

"I have walked among you all, I've spoken to you, but you did not see me."

"What now? More riddles?" she sighed, slumping into her chair. "What do you wish for me to do to prove myself? Do you want me to leave Jon? Break my engagement-?"

"Certainly not," he answered, stunning her.

"But I thought-"

"Yes, the engagement is mostly why I decided it would be best not to continue these meetings and discussions, _mademoiselle_. However, he is a good man, and he does not deserve the heartache you'll put him through if you leave him now."

"But what about _you_?" she insisted. "You are suffering-!"

"I did suffer…I shan't anymore." He sounded as though he were in awe, stunned by the words he himself had confessed, which made fear and jealousy sprout from her heart.

"Is it that Odette girl?" she snapped, crossing her arms across her chest, feeling like a petulant child who had to share her favorite toy. "Is she a brighter pupil? Do you think she has a better voice? She took everyone by surprise last night, that's for certain, but she's nothing extraordinary-"

"Listen to yourself," the commanding voice scolded her, making the young woman wince. "You're letting jealousy get the best of you! You are both competent and wonderful singers, and that is that. I have nothing more to say to you, Mademoiselle Favre. I came to apologize for my sudden leave and wish you well in your career and future."

"Wait!" she cried out, her arms spread wide. "Please, don't go! I meant what I said – I'm in love with you! Show me your face, come out, and I'll leave you alone if that's what you wish. But please, show yourself!"

All was quiet once more as she remained still, statuesque as she awaited his response. Bowing her head in resignation, she felt her eyes prick with tears when she heard a whisper float around her. "Perhaps I shall, if it will put you at ease…but it shall be on my terms. Good day."

She could sense that he was gone once he had breathed those last words. A renewed sense of resolve filled her as she arose from her chair once more, nodding to herself. _She_ would win his heart, he would be _hers_, and she wouldn't let anything or anyone stop her. She caught his attention with her beauty and voice…so she would use her beauty and voice to win him back. There was no way some child, the manager's ward, could win his affections…she had every confidence she would win this battle.

**~OG~**

"Poor kid," Eddie shook his head, snarling at the idea of sweet Odette having caught her so-called "friend" at such an inopportune moment. "Maddie's going to want to hunt the bastard down when she hears about this."

"Which was why I debated with myself on whether or not she ought to know," Erik sighed, sipping his tea as he relaxed in Eddie's home. He had brought Odette back to the office and left her with Gerard before changing from "Angel" into "Erik", returned and brought her to Mr. and Mrs. Stubenbaucker's home just three blocks away from the _Garnier_. Madeleine took Odette out for some bonding and a light luncheon, leaving Erik and Eddie alone in the house. Erik called Gerard at the opera and explained – with Eddie standing next to the phone – all that had happened. Gerard agreed that if Monette should appear on the scene after Odette, it would cause problems. The resolved to ban the man from the premises – he had caused a brawl just last year with another gentlemen, and the ballerinas had mentioned how he leered at them excessively. As owners, they had the right to send him packing, and now with the knowledge of the arrangement between Delacroix and Monette on Odette, Erik was determined to take every precaution to ensure the girl's safety.

"She'll find out one way or another, Erik. I can't hide something this important from my wife, who you know is extremely sharp and stubborn…speaking of which, Odette's a pretty bright girl, Erik." Eddie raised an eyebrow at his friend, staring at him accusingly. "Sooner or later, she's going to figure out that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are one in the same."

Erik sunk deeper into the couch, setting his cup aside before pressing his fingertips to his temples. "She can't know…I don't want her to know what's under here." He tapped his artificial cheek, earning an unimpressed "tsk" from his friend.

"Really, Erik? Your sisters could care less about what you hide – they love you. If they can look at you-"

"They're family…and don't you start with how you and Albert don't mind my face because you two are good men and absolutely strange for accepting me," Erik pointed an accusing finger at his friend.

"This is all because of that Christia woman, isn't it?" the American asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat down beside his brother-in-law. "Erik, did you ever stop to think that she's shallow-minded or faint of heart? Odette's had to grow up fairly quickly, and while that's not always a good thing, I think it will help her accept you completely, face and all. If your mother could love a man who murdered people and had a face – which I'm told was much worse than yours – that resembled a rotting corpse, surely Odette can learn to love you despite your physical appearance."

Erik's eyes widened significantly, gaping at his friend in shock at the particular usage of vocabulary. "I-"

"Oh please, _mon ami_!" Eddie guffawed merrily, slapping his friend's arm. "It's so painfully clear that you care for her. I've seen it grow these past few weeks. Erik, listen to me – as your friend and bother-in-law, I'm begging you to stop this whole charade of being two people. Come clean – tell her the truth, show your face. This will only get even more complex as the days go on. How long will you be able to keep this up? Besides, she might get conflicting feelings about how she feels for her 'Angel' and 'Erik', and won't _that _be a barrel of laughs to deal with."

"She can't love me," Erik shook her head. "She's only a child, Ed. She's just turned seventeen in June – she can't possibly know what she wants, and she couldn't possibly love me-"

"Why not? I'm fairly certain she knows she doesn't want to be Monette's mistress or wife, and that she's smitten with you." He smirked as Erik gave him a side glance. "Madeleine won't share what they talk about, but she hints at things to me…I see how your little ward acts. She's smitten with both personas you've created, from what I can tell, and it's only going to drive her mad."

Hope and doubt tugged on either side of his brain as he listened to his friend. "You're just saying this to-"

"_Mon Dieu_, I'd like to grab the frying pan Maddie left in the kitchen and smack some sense into you, man!" Eddie groaned, smacking his forehead in frustration. "_Use_ that ingenious brain of yours, Erik! Start looking – pick up the hints! She's a girl who's stuck in this strange world she's never been accustomed to and she has two guides who are really two halves of one man. These two men are kind and courteous to her, but there's a barrier, different kinds, but there are barriers nonetheless, and it's only adding to her growing feelings for you."

"Since when did you become a philosopher?" Erik sneered.

"I'm a journalist, Erik – I have a keen eye for details," he smirked. "If Odette allowed her suspicions to rule her, she would have made the connection the day she walked in. I think she doesn't say anything out of respect…and possibly because she wants you to be the one to share the truth."

"You're infuriating, you know that, don't you?" he asked, pouting at his friend.

"That means I'm doing my job!" Eddie beamed. "More tea?"

Grumbling, Erik handed him his teacup, staring out the window and into the sunny August sky. Reason poked at his gut, bringing out the guilt he held back. He shook his head, stubborn, as he thought to himself. _"I can't show her my face…I can't."_ He would never admit to Eddie the fear that hid deep within his heart, the fear that consumed his dreams more so lately than his usual nightmares of war. He was terrified that she would see his face and, just as Christia had, recoil and scream, run from him in horror and disgust. No…he had avoided Jeanne for that very reason. Odette was content and, out of the kindness of her heart, did not ask him to remove the mask. He would never remove the mask of his own free will and subject himself – or her – to the monstrosity of his face, one of many blessings and curses he had inherited from his late father. _"She must_ never _see me…"_

**~OG~**

A week after Odette's performance came and went like the summer breezes that passed through the city ceaselessly. She continued with her lessons, and was soon hounded down by the chorus-master and even Gerard Chevalier to consider being Jeanne's understudy.

"I can't," she shook her head before her Angel as he stood behind the mirror. "I couldn't possibly take on that position! I'm just-"

"Do not degrade yourself," he spoke sternly, tugging the brim of his hat just a bit more to keep his masked face concealed in the shadows. "You are perfectly capable of taking on the lead role if you wished. Mademoiselle Favre will be married this winter and the possibility of her leaving the Opera House is very high. I heard from the Chevaliers that Monsieur Joubert is anxious to move to his ancestor's home in England, which leaves the position of _prima donna_ to be filled."

Hugging her arms, the girl sighed and leaned against the frame of the mirror. "…I don't want to cause any conflict between me and Jeanne."

"Conflict?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't explain it, but she always seemed…a bit possessive to me. She doesn't start rows and she doesn't screech, but there's this look in her eyes when she wants something…I never noticed when I arrived because I rarely spoke with her…she's very polite and kind, but when she hears someone discussing how she is compared to someone else, she gets stiff and answers curtly. Just the other day, one of the girls in the _corps de ballet_ suggested that I try out for Donna Anna in the next performance, _Don Giovanni_, and Jeanne was passing through…when I glanced over to her, I saw her bit her lip so fiercely that she nearly drew blood! She ignored me the rest of the day and…" She shook her head. "I think she's jealous…I stole you away and now everyone is so impressed with my voice that they're suggesting I try out for more roles-"

"Do you want to?"

"What?" she asked, facing him through the glass.

Reaching up, he placed his hand upon the clear barrier, his eyes locking with hers. "Do you wish to try out and participate…to do more than you think you can do?"

Odette pressed her lips together firmly, glancing down at the floor before nodding and lifting her gaze to see him. "Yes…yes, I do. I loved singing on that stage. I was petrified – I was certain I'd make a terrible mistake or forget my lines…but I loved every moment. I became that character, and I wanted my feelings to soar through the air with my voice!...it sounds selfish and silly doesn't it?" she asked, starting to look away when suddenly, the glass slid back and he stepped out, placing his fingertips under her chin and re-directing her face so that they stared at one another.

"That is precisely why I tutor you…you understand music, _mon Belle_…you understand _me_. You made me so proud when you sang that evening…and I know you can do better, that you're meant for greater things! Music is more than notes and sounds…it is emotion, it is life, it is love-" His voice dried at the last word, realizing suddenly how close they had gotten, their noses nearly touching. He had spoken so passionately that he drew her in with every breath. Pulling away, he cleared his throat and removed his gloved hand from her face. "If you truly wish to continue and pursue your musical career, I shall be there to help you."

"…will you leave me?"

His head snapped back to see her watching him, her eyes glowing in the light of the electric lamps placed in her room. "What-?"

"You did the same to Jeanne…you were her teacher and then, just as she was doing well, you left her…I think that's why she wanted to get to know me, and why she rarely speaks to me now. She wants you back."

"I already spoke with her about that," he frowned. "She has her life ahead of her, she has no need for me…she loves the voice, not the man." Odette's blushing cheeks did not go unnoticed, making his frown evaporate as he knelt before her, making her gape in awe. "Odette, my dear…I realize I haven't always been the best…_person_ I could be…but I swear to you, I shall always protect you. I will never leave you, so long as you wish me near your side…I don't ever want to harm you…"

She took hold of his hat, removing it from his head as she bent down and kissed his forehead, running her fingers over his dark locks. _"How peculiar…his hair is streaked with silver…just like Erik…"_ She bit her tongue, keeping her suspicions to herself. It wasn't the time or place now to ask him such a preposterous and yet reasonable question. Instead, she placed her hands on his masked face and looked into his bewildered eyes. "I know you would never harm me…do you truly mean what you say? About never leaving?"

"I shall sign a contract in blood if that's what you wish," he said sternly, cracking a smile as she giggled and shook her head.

"Goodness, no! No, I don't need contracts or blood…just…" Her eyes watched his strange, deformed lips, her face becoming red as she realized what she was thinking. "Just…promise me and I'll believe you."

"I promise," he whispered, desire burning within his chest as he felt her hands on his concealed face, her lips a breath away from his. "…technically, you never stole me away."

"What?" she asked, her brows furrowing.

"You said Jeanne is jealous because you stole me away…really, I stole you in a sense…I'm fairly certain that's what your father would insist," he shrugged.

"Father would claim anything," she frowned as she turned her face to glare at the floor, still suffering from disbelief and hurt at the news that her father used her as currency to pay off his debts to Destin Monette.

"I'm sorry," Angel said, slowly rising to his feet.

"No, don't apolo-_mgh_!"

Both sets of eyes widened as their faces met, their lips colliding as she turned to face him the moment he chose to rise. A pleasant shiver seemed to pass through the two of them, like a spark of electricity passing from one person to the next. Angel sunk back down at once, his knees weak as the shock of what happened began to sink in. "_Mon Dieu_!" he gasped, covering his mouth at once. Covering his face soon after, he doubled over before her, shaking his head vehemently. Fighting to keep his voice steady, he inhaled deeply before rising once more, standing before her. "Odette, forgive me! I never mean to-" His eyes widened yet again as he felt her throw her arms around his neck and hop up, clinging to him as she pressed her lips to his again. His body remained stiff as he realized what she was doing, what he was experiencing.

A kiss…a sweet, innocent kiss…It made his heart flutter and pound all at once, his stomach an unsettled mess. His blood raced through his hot veins as his hands slowly came to rest on her back. He had to touch her – had to hold her tight to him, just to make sure it was really happening, as well as support the poor girl as she hung onto him. She curled against his body, causing goosebumps to rise all over. She was virtuous, young, innocent, and beautiful, kissing him of her own free will…it was almost too much to bear…almost. He couldn't resist and fell into her sweet, heartfelt response to their accidental kiss. He didn't dare to taint the moment with grown-up wishes and desires…no, he wanted to take it slow, treat her as she should be treated. He could hear Eddie's voice shouting _"A-ha! What did I tell you?!"_ but ignored it, enjoying her soft, yielding form against his as he lifted her off her feet to bring her close to his masked face. Her perfect pink lips pressed against his strange, pale ones were soft and tender…he never dreamed he would experience this sensation. In his mind, visions of his father and a younger, impulsive version of his mother appeared as they shared tender, uncertain kisses, only just beginning to know one another. _"Is this what you felt, Father? This pulsing beat that touches your soul and never lets go? God help me, she's at least half my age…but I can't stop…I can't hold back! I love her – I love you, Odette…!"_

"What?" she whispered, staring into his eyes with wonder as her face remained perfectly pink. "What did you say?"

"_Damn! Did I say all that aloud?"_ "I…"

"_Mon Dieu_! It can't be!"

Odette gasped, clinging even tighter to her Angel as they both turned their heads and saw Jeanne Favre gripping the door, half of her body already inside the room as she gaped at the two of them. "Jeanne-!"

"You…you're _him_!" the singer choked, pointing a shaking finger at Angel.

His eyes narrowed at this. Gently, he set Odette down, stepping in front of her protectively. "You really ought to knock before barging in, Jeanne. As I recall, you were relentless when others tried to burst into your room when we met for practices."

Jeanne nearly toppled over as she heard him speak, unable to believe that the voice she had heard all this time was finally standing in front of her…and he was nothing more than a masked fiend, tall and dark, like a shadow from years before. "You're…just a man…in a mask?"

"Well done – it seems your eyesight is still intact," he answered sharply, hurt by her answer. "You demanded to see me – here I am. Bother me no more and leave Odette be. _Au revoir_!"

Jeanne and Odette gasped and cried out as the lights flickered for no more than a second, his body suddenly vanished from sight. "Oh, God! He really is a phantom," the singer whispered, edging away from the girl. Ridges formed upon her forehead as she glared accusingly at Odette. "He never used to speak to me like that – this is all your fault, you little vixen-!"

"_Don't_," Odette frowned, standing straight before the woman. "Don't even start. I have had enough of being used and blamed for things that aren't my fault! I never asked to come here or be in this position, but I am. Did you know that I talked to him, just like you asked, and got him to agree to speak to you again? I wanted you both to work things out, I really did, and I still do, but you make it so difficult for me to sympathize with you anymore!"

"I…"

"You have so much and yet you continue to demand more. You have a loving family and a handsome fiancé, a beautiful voice and a small fortune, adoring fans…I have nothing. I came here on behalf of my father and I was blessed to find Erik and the Phantom, a real life guardian angel who came to my aid four years ago! These men have shown me more kindness that I could ever have hoped to fine, they're protected and cared for me, and they love me, and I love them! I've never been so happy and…and…I won't let you destroy what little happiness I've finally got!"

Pointing to her full-length mirror, she all but shouted, "Look at yourself! Look at what you've become by chasing after the man you already gave up! Did you know the ballerinas are petrified of you? Did you know that you act horrible when you make it silently clear that you want something and won't let any competition get in the way? All that time you were being friendly to me was a lie, wasn't it? Well I want nothing to do with you anymore!"

Stalking forth, she yanked the door open and glared at Jeanne, gripping the handle as so to rein in her rising temper. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop creeping about my dressing room, _Mademoiselle Favre_. Good night."

Jeanne stood in the open doorway, gawking at the infuriated girl in awe and shock. She had never seen the girl get angry before, and it struck her almost as much as the Phantom's anger did. Her words stung as they sunk into her mind, but they made sense. Still, she wasn't about to let little Odette beat her just yet. Biting her tongue, she turned and left, wanting to avoid a scene in front of the whole company – around here, gossip spread like wildfire. She would save her thoughts and opinions for another time.

Odette waited, still gripping the handle fiercely, before shutting the door and walking off, eager to get some fresh air. Making her way through the wooden pillars, steps, and secluded passages, she took her time walking through the silent Opera House. It was nearly eight o' clock in the evening, most of the workers having gone home while the ballerinas and chorus girls went to the dormitories in preparation for bed. Walking stealthily through the halls, she passed the workrooms and giant pieces of mobile scenery before reaching the west side door. Opening it, she stepped into the warm, still air of twilight, the stars winking behind wisps of fading clouds. Closing the door, she checked her surroundings, finding her only companion to be a stray rat sitting on the mountain of discarded crates that had once contained the horses' supplies. She shuddered at the memory of hearing Destin and the prostitute hissing secrets to one another before moaning into the night as they continued their rendezvous. Shaking her head, she forced herself to push the thought out of her mind and faced the direction of the street. Her eyes trailed skyward to see the violet-hued sky spread out before her like a delicate, shimmering blanket.

Upon feeling a large hand on her shoulder which gripped her fiercely, she gave a cry of fright. "Help-!" she started to scream, feeling the stranger spin her around to face him.

"Odette, it's just me!"

Her eyes grew large in apprehension as she saw the smiling, charming face of Destin Monette, impeccably dressed to impress. There was just one problem – she was no longer fooled by his charms. "Let go of me!" she demanded, fighting to shrug him off of her.

"Hold on a moment, Odette! What's wrong?" he asked, concern flashing in his eyes. "You're acting as though I'm some sort of monster-"

"You _are_!" she frowned, holding still as she let her words sink in. "I won't let you take me as payment for my father's mistakes!" She jerked herself free as he gawked at her, his jaw nearly dropping as she spoke those fatal words. "Keep away from me!" she said, edging away towards the door once more.

"…you heard?" he asked, his brows furrowing. When she only glared at him, he heaved a sigh. "I didn't want it to be like this, Odette…your father was gambling and drunk one night, and I was, too."

"You used me as though I was some sort of livestock," she said softly, the hurt in her voice seeping through the air.

"You have no idea how badly I want you, Odette, truly!" he pleaded, reaching for her.

She recoiled from him, her back to the door. "For what? So you can have me like you had _her_? That-…that _Valerie_ woman? I'm not a prostitute, and I'm not some toy-"

"Don't you see? I know that – I can provide for you," he said, taking a step towards her as she frantically clawed for the doorknob. "You'll never want for anything again-"

"The only thing I want is for you to go away," she said, turning the knob when he tackled her, yanking her away from the door.

"Is it that Chevalier fop?!" he snarled. "Are you warming _his_ bed?"

Her jaw dropped in disbelief at what she was hearing. "Erik is an absolute gentleman," she snapped. "He would never-!"

"First name basis, huh? I knew it! Well, I've waited a year and I'm tired of waiting – you're mine!" he growled, gripping her arm and yanking her towards the crates.

The memory of catching him with the prostitute struck her like lightning, fear consuming her. "NO!" she screamed, kicking his leg. "ANGEL!"

"Shut up!" he bellowed, ignoring the pain in his leg as he whipped around to face her when he heard the flapping of a cape behind him. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes widened as he raised his hand just in time before the thin, nearly invisible rope of improved catgut landed around his neck. He gagged as the lasso tightened around him, a deathly white face with glowing golden orbs glared down on him. The shadow gave a hard tug, sending him flying in his direction. With Odette freed, the mysterious figure battled him relentlessly, wrapping his long, thin fingers around his neck, slowly cutting off the air supply. Choking, Destin pulled back his free arm, and in a final burst of energy, sent his fist flying towards his attacker. The moment his hand hit the shadow's face, the mask and hat flew off, revealing a pale, skeletal face that contained a half-formed nose, semi-transparent lips, and shadowed, sunken cat-like eyes. Destin cursed on his last gasp of breath, slumping as he fell unconscious.

Tossing aside the pitiful excuse for a man, Erik knew he had to work quickly before Monette regained consciousness or anyone saw them. He lifted his face, his eyes meeting a pair of large, mortified emerald orbs. At once, an invisible knife cut through him, his hope for blissfulness flying out the window.

Odette had seen his hideous face.


	16. Two Sides, Same Coin

**Chapter Sixteen – Two Sides, Same Coin**

"_No…NO!"_

His mind screamed the word again and again, but there was no changing the situation. His face was exposed, the unforgiving summer warmth caressing his deformed cheeks almost tauntingly, as he stared at her and she stared back. He wanted to shout, cry, punch Monette, grab the mask…instead, he bowed his head and turned away, pulling the collar up on his cloak.

"Go," he said firmly, listening for the sound of her footsteps. Any moment now, she would run away, her steps fading off in the distance. He tensed as he heard her shift, standing up behind him.

"…go where?" she asked softly.

He blinked, his strange brows furrowing together at her question. "…wherever you wish. I won't hold you prisoner…not after seeing-" He stopped, unable to speak anymore. Swallowing his pride, his felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he waited painstakingly for her reaction. "Go," he whispered, forcing the word out of his mouth. As he took a step forward, he heard her feet patter towards him. He stopped, his brows knitting together once more as he heard a shuffle and scraping sound behind him.

"Someone's coming," she whispered, tugging at his arm with one hand. In her other hand she held the mask and hat, earning his attention instantly. Startled by her urgency, he found himself facing her once more, her eyes full of determination and worry. "You must have a trapdoor-!"

"I'm telling you, I heard someone scream," a stagehand's voice insisted as the door creaked open.

Without a second thought, Erik wrapped his cloak around Odette, easily scooping the girl into his arms and trekking deeper down the alleyway towards the stables. Catching sight of the wooden stalls, he checked the perimeter before tugging at a dusty wooden level. The door opened at once, much to the neighboring horse's shock, allowing the pair to slip inside unseen as the door shut behind them. He stood perfectly still, holding his breath as he waited to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. There was no telling now if the two stagehands had seen him run off with Odette, or even followed him as far as the stables. So he waited, his body slowly relaxing when he felt Odette's small hands gripping onto the lapels of his jacket.

At once, he set her down, slinking deep into the shadows and avoiding the torchlight, holding his cape up to conceal his face. He felt silly doing so, feeling like that vampire in that rubbish story in his library, but really, what choice did he have? "My mask, _s'il vous plait_," he said wearily, sticking his hand out as he waited. Only his cat-like orbs showed in the darkness as he peeked over his arm, watching her undecipherable face.

"…no."

His eyes widened yet again that evening as he stared at her. She took a step forward, he took a step back. "Odette-"

"Let me look at you…the real you," she spoke softly, raising her empty hand to him. "Don't run and hide from me anymore…please."

Those gently words rooted his feet to the ground, though his arm remained aloft as she stepped towards him, soon consumed by the darkness as well.

"Come to the light," she pleaded, placing her hand on his arm. She guided him, watching as he reluctantly joined her, his eyes shifting from one side of the hall to another, as if looking for an escape. "Angel, please…"

"You don't know what you're asking," he shook his head. "I'm a monster-"

"_Destin_ is the monster," she corrected him, reaching under his arm and placing her hand upon his chin. "You saved me again."

His arm slowly dropped as he closed his eyes and turned his face away from her. "My face-"

"Hush," she said, cajoling him to face her once more. His eyes remained closed, tears escaping as he refused to watch her look at him. Her heart ached, and though her stomach churned at the sight of him, she dared to caress the back of her hand against his deathly cheek. His eyes snapped open at the feel of her skin, a cry of surprise caught in his throat. "This is why you hid from me…from Jeanne, too," she whispered, dropping the hat and mask to the floor so that she might touch his other cheek. "You don't have to anymore, Angel…least of all from me. I'm a poor country girl…you remember what I looked like when I came in…and my hair!" She laughed, though she touched her head and winced at the thought of her entry into the _Palais Garnier_, nothing more than a field mouse. "You looked past my appearance and polished me and now I'm a performer for the Opera House…it's true, your face….it frightened me when I first saw it." She caught one of his tears on her thumb, taking in his pained expression before wrapping her arms around him, resting her head upon his chest. His heart thumped wildly at the gesture, making her smile. "You're just as human as me…your heart beats, you breathe, you dream, you get angry and happy and cry…I know your heart, your soul…they're beautiful…no matter what you look like, that will never stop me from loving you."

The cry he had fought back for so long burst forth as he felt his body weaken, his fingers curling in happiness as he placed his hands on her back. "O-Odette…you can't…that is to say…you're so young, and I'm-!"

"I don't care!" she protested, burying her face into his clothes as she tightened her hold on him. "Tell me you don't feel the same and I will leave you alone! Tell me you don't love me the way I love you."

"…I can't," he choked, holding her close as he ran his fingers through her boyish locks. "God help me…I can't help myself!"

"Angel…let's go home," she whispered, snuggling against his thin frame. "_Je t'aime_…"

"…may I…?" he asked, feeling the same pleasant warmth that stemmed from her each time he gazed at her face. She lifted her face to him, curiosity shining in her eyes as he struggled to state his request. "…may I…k-kiss you?" he choked.

A smile grew on her lips as she closed her eyes and inclined her head towards him, waiting for him to act. Holding his breath, he leaned down, dipping his head until he pressed his horrid mouth to her delicate one once more, sighing into the kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Angel…!" she whispered when he pulled back, nestling her forehead into the crook of his neck.

"_Je t'aime_, Odette…_je t'aime_," he murmured over and over as he held her, kissing her hair, her cheek, her nose, her lips once more. He had fallen into a wondrous, deep trap that he never wanted to be freed from. As he took her in his arms once again, feeling her body willing pressed against his, her lips and whispers consuming his thoughts and heart, he could see his parents' smiling down at him. _"So…this is why I'm still standing."_ The notion of Destin Monette stealing her and tainting her with his cruelty and greed made his grip on her tighten as he spirited her away to his hidden abode. All pained memories of Christia and Jeanne evaporated as he realized he was falling deeper and deeper for this innocent girl, this pure-hearted maiden who looked at his face and did not scream or run. "I will protect you, _mon Belle_," he whispered as the house on the lake came into view. "I swear it – you will never need to fear Monette again."

"You didn't kill him," she noted, relieved that he had avoided taking the boat across. She wanted to feel his warmth, hear his voice in her ear. "Those stories about you being a murderer are wrong. I knew they were."

"I did kill, long ago…I swore not to anymore, even if the idea is tempting," he grumbled, earning an amused "hmph!" from her.

"What am I going to do? He won't stop just because you interfered…what if he calls the police and you're found-?!" she started, clinging to him as though her arms would link them together eternally.

"He won't contact anyone, at least not the police – gambling for a young woman's life and possession of said woman is not something that is smiled upon," he reassured her. "We'll find a way to stop this…I promise, Odette." Glaring into the darkness, he could see the handsome man's face, sneering at the pair of them. "I promise."

**~OG~**

"You did what?!" Madeleine yelped, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Shh!" Odette hissed, biting her lip afterwards to hold back her giggles. "Yes…he kissed me."

An unearthly squeal filled the air as Madeleine jumped up and down (despite her ever growing belly), dropping the hairclips she had intended to slip into Odette's curly, boy-cut hair. "Oh, _mon Dieu_, this is…!" She gave another squeal, embracing the laughing girl. "I told that great idiot time and time again that he would find someone if he was patient! Oh, this is wonderful! Erik must be so happy he can barely contain himself! To think he's finally been kissed-!"

"Erik?"

Madeleine froze, her mouth snapping shut. As if a bucket of cold water had been poured on her, she realized too little too late that she had spoken the wrong name. "I…I mean _Angel_, of course," she said, forcing a smile onto her face as she saw Odette's oddly calm face. "I just-"

"I knew it," Odette whispered, placing her hand over her heart as she looked away in relief. "It _is_ him."

Madeleine groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "_Merde_," she cussed, taking a set beside the girl. "Odette-"

"Please, let me speak," Odette protested, taking Madeleine's hands into her own. "I would never want to hurt Erik…not after all he's done for me, all he continues to do for me. Ever since I arrived, I had a strong sense that Erik and 'Angel' were connected in more ways than one…I'd long suspected they were the same person. They share so many habits." She laughed softly, remembering how she pondered at the fact that they both called her "my dear" and were both musically talented. "I never wanted to expose him, though…and, in a way, I didn't want to end the…" She blushed, her eyes darting away from the woman.

"The what?" Madeleine asked, placing her hand on the teenager's shoulder.

"…the _magic_." Odette sighed, covering her cheeks in an effort to conceal her embarrassment. "I know it sounds silly, but…there were supposedly two men watching over men, both are mysterious in their own ways, they're extremely talented and thoughtful and romantic and sweet and-!"

"And it's all so enchanting, to fall in love," Madeleine finished, winking at Odette. "It's not silly at all. One your age would be attracted to all the mystery my brother's created…and especially knowing that it's Erik we're talking about. He takes after father – he's always had a way with theatrics."

The two females laughed, nodding their heads in agreement with what they shared before they eventually calmed down. "Oh dear, the clips-"

"I'll get them," Odette offered, kneeling to the floor to collect the sparkling hairpins and clips off the fine royal blue carpet in Madeleine's bedroom.

"_Merci_," Madeleine said, accepting the items before motioning for Odette to sit down. Setting to work, she began to set the accessories into place as she said, "You're a smart girl, Odette."

Odette said nothing, wondering what her energetic friend meant by the statement.

"You seem to understand Erik at so many different levels…he doesn't like to show it, but he's utterly intoxicated with you."

"With me?" Odette scoffed, wishing she could shake her head.

"Yes, with _you_." Sticking the final hairpiece into place, Madeleine tapped her shoulder, urging the girl to face her. "I'm not sure just how or why our father had the deformity – according to him, his parents were perfectly normal…when he was born, even they couldn't stand the sight of him. He was always pushed away, abhorred…and yet, he had a heart that longed to hold the world." Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered her deceased father, her hand moving to her eyes to wipe away her tears. "It wasn't until he met Maman that he started to change. The world had made him react violently, setting up walls around him and causing him to retaliate when threatened. He was a most unusual man, and yet, he and Maman fell in love. She could see past his face and crimes and saw that his soul was tormented, his heart scarred and chained…and eventually, she broke through." Placing her hands on Odette's cheeks, she smiled warmly as she whispered, "I believe you are Erik's 'Angelique'."

"His…what?" she asked, blinking in confusion.

"Maman's name was Angelique…Papa called her 'the Angel of my heart'," she giggled. "He was so romantic with her…Anyways, Erik – my brother, not my father, mind you – he had inherited Papa's face and many of his talents and habits. He was restless when he was young, full of hope that perhaps he might break through to someone and have a woman who might love him as Maman loved Papa…but after a heartache he suffered through, he ran off to join the war…that's where he met Eddie and Albert. He mentioned once that when they were released, they were caught by deserters and he had to use his face to help them escape. He's accepted his face, he just doesn't believe that a woman could accept him…and then you came." Clasping the girl's hands, she continued, "Erik is so elusive, so lonely…you brighten his world. When you told me that you kissed each other, I just…you don't know how happy I am to hear that he's fallen in love, and that you reciprocate those feelings towards him. He would never break your heart…so I beg of you, if you're serious about my brother, don't break his."

"I would never," Odette shook her head, earning an embrace from Madeleine. "It would hurt me just as much if I dared to hurt him…Maddie, you won't tell him I know about…that he's two people-?"

"Of course not, I'll let you two work that out on your own terms," Madeleine winked. "This is all so exciting!" she clapped her hands, giddy once more as she unsteadily stood up. "I've got to get a hold of myself or I'll spit something out just as I did now. Help down the stairs, won't you? We're already late for the party!"

Odette giggled, rising to her feet and assisting the woman out the door and down the stairs, her mind racing. She felt giddy inside, hopeful…the days she had spent in silence since she and "Angel" had confessed their love had made her anxious to share her joy with someone, and Madeleine proved to be the right choice. The woman cared for Odette tirelessly, as though she were the elder sister she never had. Madeleine knew the man she had fallen for, and in a sense gave Odette her sisterly approval. Now, all she had to do was find a way to get Erik to admit the truth to her.

Arriving at the foot of the steps, the two women found their escorts waiting for them. Eddie grinned as he saw them, his freckled face beaming as he took his wife on his arm. "Told ya they'd be down in a bit," he chuckled merrily. "Milady, shall we?"

"Let's," Madeleine beamed, winking at Odette before letting her husband walk her out.

Odette blushed as Erik fought not to gape at her, looking stunning in a shimmering gold dress that floated around her, stopping at just above her knees. She was a dainty golden blossom, just starting to bloom. "You look…beautiful," Erik told her, stammering as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Thank you," she said shyly. "You look dashing…but then, you always do."

He chuckled at her observation, casting a sheepish smile at her. "I wouldn't say 'always'…nevertheless, thank you."

Unbeknownst to him, she understood what he had meant when he responded to her comment. She stepped towards him and hesitantly reached up. "May I?" she asked timidly, her hands hovering above his tie. "It's coming undone."

"_Merci_," he said quietly, blushing as she deftly fixed the stubborn tie, even correcting the topaz pin that went over it. "…well, we mustn't keep them waiting," he said at last, offering his arm to her. Sparks flew through his veins as she linked her arm with his, smiling warmly at him as he guided her out to the waiting car.

"About time!" Eddie smirked, the engine of his sleek vehicle already purring.

"Oh, stop your grousing," Erik sniffed, helping Odette into the backseat before getting in. "Just drive."

"With pleasure!" Laughing, Eddie shifted gears and drove out onto the road, glancing at the rearview mirror to see Erik and Odette sharing an intimate, innocent smile. He grinned, winking at his wife, who motioned for him to be silent for the moment. Eddie was ecstatic at Erik's news that he and Odette – well, _Angel_ and Odette, to be precise – had confessed their feelings to one another. Since he had met the girl, Eddie was certain that she would be the one to see through his exterior and embrace him with an open heart and mind. Now, all they had to do was quit this dual identity nonsense, but there was no telling when _that_ would end. "Say, Odette? Erik says that you tried out for the lead role in the next production – are you excited for the reveal tonight?"

"Oh, yes!" she nodded, meeting his eyes in the mirror with enthusiasm and anxiety. "It's been torture these past two days since try-outs…I just want to know so I can sleep in peace tonight!"

"I understand perfectly," Madeleine laughed. "I remember when I used to dance in the _corps de ballet_ – it was agony to wait when try-outs started."

"C'mon, Erik! Can't you give us a hint?" Eddie grinned, waggling his eyebrows at him, earning giggles from the girls and an unimpressed look from his friend.

"Gerard has sworn me to secrecy – _he_ wants to be the one to announce it," he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Was it the usual panel of judges?" Madeleine asked, touching her red curls to make sure they were still in place.

"Oh yes – Gerry, Madame le Plume, that ignoramus Herriot, and myself. We all came to a consensus, actually…the first time in ages, I think." Facing Odette, he reached over and patted her hand comfortingly. "I can't say what it is you received, but I can assure you that you are one of the core members of the main cast." He felt his heart soar as he saw her face light up at the news. "I promise you, my dear, you won't be disappointed."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes glistening with joy. "I couldn't have done any of this without you. You pushed me on when I was ready to back out."

"I knew you would regret it if you didn't try…as would I," he spoke, taking her hand in his and placing his lips upon her skin. It was remarkable at the little changes she had made in the past three weeks that she had been in Paris – she was much more outgoing, and picked up on social cues easily, no matter how silly or insignificant they seemed. He couldn't stop the grin from growing on his face as she continued to blush bright pink as he kissed her hand. She may have professed her love to his deformed self, but she continued to be taken by surprise and flattered by his current, handsome form.

"All right, here we are," Eddie announced, turning the corner to drive onto the main road, where the street was filled with cars and taxicabs that fought their way to the _Garnier Opera_, bathed in light as they slowly approached the building. The four of them piled out at once as they parked in front of the grand entrance, allowing the valet to drive the car off. The couples entered the foyer, bursting with cantankerous babble and drowned-out music, the electric lights setting the giant room ablaze. The foyer was filled with a sea of people, all dressed to the nines in the hopes of impressing one another. Squeezing past the bodies that surrounded them, Erik quickly identified his brother in the crowd.

"There you are!" Erik called out, earning Gerard's attention. "This little party of yours isn't as little as I thought it would be."

"They never are," Gerard laughed, knowing how uncomfortable Erik could get in crowds. "Still, you know that this particular promotion for _Don Giovanni_ is bound to turn some heads, especially when we announce the cast." Bowing to Odette, Gerard added, "It's lovely to see you, Odette. I assure you, you won't be disappointed with what you've been chosen for."

"I have every faith in you both," she smiled at the two brothers though her heart pounded in her chest like a fleeing rabbit, pattering furiously inside of her.

"I'll be announcing it shortly, now that I know you all made it," Gerard promised them, excusing himself as he went to great another patron.

Wrapping his arm around her, Erik felt his pulse quicken as she leaned into his arm, staying close to him in the hopes of keeping away from the swarming masses. "Champagne might soothe your nerves," he offered, catching sight of a waiter squeezing in between a rather tubby gentleman and a half-drunk fool.

"I've never had that," she confessed, her cheeks becoming red once more. "I don't much care for alcohol."

The memory of her drunken father flashed through his mind, making his wince. "I'm sorry…that was terribly insensitive of me-"

"It's not your fault," she shook her head. Odette glanced at the women around her, looking so elegant with their glasses of the sparkling liquid, her stomach feeling like a stone inside of her. "I…I suppose I could-"

"Perhaps some punch would be better," Erik suggested, winking impishly at her as he guided her to the refreshment table. "I don't much care for the fizz anyway. It tickles my nose so much that I get the urge to sneeze."

The thought of Erik, mask-less with his half-formed nose, sneezing as he lifted a glass of champagne to his lips, suddenly made her giggle uncontrollably, earning a lifted eyebrow from him.

"Well…I didn't think it was _that_ funny, but if you insist," he shrugged, only serving to make her laugh even more, eventually drawing a half-smile from him.

"I…I'm sorry!" she hiccupped, tripping over her words as she smiled at him. "I just-"

"Erik?"

"Monsieur Chevalier?"

The two feminine voices made Erik frown as he recognized them. Turning his head, he saw Christia de Castelot-Barbezac to his right while Jeanne Favre stood to his left, both of them staring in disbelief at him and Odette. He couldn't fathom why they gawked at him until he realized he was holding the young girl rather intimately. Still, Odette did not part from his side and stammer her apologies as he imagined most girls her age would. Instead, she stood tall and proud, remaining beside him no matter what attention they attracted from the two women. His frown of confusion soon transformed into a relaxed smile as he glanced down at the sweet girl before nodding his head to each of the women.

"_Baroness, Mademoiselle Favre_," he greeted them politely. "You're both looking radiant tonight."

"Thank you," Christia said, smiling back. Glancing at Odette with interest, she stepped towards them and greeted Jeanne before asking, "Erik, who is this lovely child? I heard you had a ward…?"

"This is my ward. Odette, this is the _Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac_. Baroness, this is Odette Delacroix," he said coolly, motioning calmly with a simple wave of his hand.

"How do you do?" Odette asked, curtsying politely to the married woman.

"She's charming," she complimented her.

"How's Gaspard?" Erik asked almost pleasantly, stunning the woman once more.

"He's…fine. Away on business again…never really home nowadays," she said, remorse tinting her voice. "…it would be nice to see you again, Erik. Marguerite – you remember my daughter? – has been asking about you since we last saw each other-"

"Regrettably, I cannot visit. I'm rather occupied with helping Gerard here in the _Palais_, and I've been taking care of Odette," he answered honestly, taking her hand and kissing it. "But it is good to see you doing so well."

"Yes…of course…do excuse me," she said, forcing a smile as she turned away from them.

"Mademoiselle Favre, is your fiancé around?" Erik asked, scanning the floor for the man.

"Yes…he's somewhere," she nodded, her eyes falling on Odette's small, shimmering form. There was something about the way Chevalier kept a protective hold on the little vixen that reminded her of the Phantom…she couldn't explain it, but she didn't like how close these two were together. "I trust you both are well."

"Quite," Odette nodded, catching the suspicion that shone in Jeanne's brown eyes. "Would you excuse-?"

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention, please?" Gerard's booming voice shook the air, earning everyone's attention even over the din that hung over their heads. "I have here in my hand the list of performers that will compose out main cast for the next production of _Don Giovanni_. These people are…" No one moved, no one breathed as they waited for Gerard Chevalier to open the slip of paper that held the fates of those casted performers. He started from the bottom up, beginning with the chorus. It was agonizing, and he must have known it, for he took his sweet time. Erik gave Odette's arm a gentle squeeze, reassuring her silently that all would be well.

"…Donna Elvira will be played by Jeanne Favre," Gerard announced, the crowd applauding Jeanne for her good fortune. She smiled politely, disappointment shining in her eyes. If she did not get the main female lead, then who…? "Donna Anna will be played by Odette Delacroix!" Everyone's eyes widened as they looked to the small, shocked figure that stood by Erik Chevalier's side. When the patron's realized it was the young girl who had made her debut in _The Nightingale_, they applauded her, impressed with her success and eager to see how she would do. Some skeptics began to mutter and whisper about how they shouldn't take chances on a new performer – one that was under the manager's care at that – but most paid no mind.

"Oh!" Odette gasped, her hands flying up to cover her dropping jaw as she heard the news. "Oh!"

"Congratulations," Erik said softly, kissing her hand though he desperately wanted to kiss her lips. "You deserve this."

Jeanne listened to Chevalier speak to Odette, watched the way he looked at her. _"_Mon Dieu_, he's in love with her!...and she's taking the Phantom, too?!"_ Her brows furrowed, she turned and stalked off, shoving past a man who tried to grab her. Tonight was not her night.

**~OG~**

The warm night air enveloped the man and young woman as they calmly strolled through the empty street to Erik Chevalier's home. Arm in arm, they spoke softly to one another, smiling as they shared in each other's excitements and triumphs.

"I know that _he_ will be pleased," Erik said to Odette, watching as a wry smile crossed her face.

"Yes…he will be…" she murmured, giving his arm a light squeeze.

His brows began knitting together at the motion, making him wonder…

Erik stiffened, though he continued to walk as he sensed another being close by. "Don't look back," he warned her. He could see the alarm in her eyes as she, too, sensed the new presence. "Just keep moving." Reaching into his waistcoat, he casually tugged out the catgut noose, flexing his fingers as he prepared himself. "Get ready to run."

"Run?" she whispered, worried for him.  
"You have the key…just go. I'll be there shortly afterwards." Waiting until the house was in sight, he stopped as he realized another figure stood off by a lamppost, watching them with dark interest. "_Merde_," he cursed. "Stay close." He had no choice. Walking up to the man at the post, he could hear the stalker chase after them. Whipping the lasso out, he spun around efficiently and roped the man's torso. The perpetrator gasped in shock and fright as Erik gave a mighty tug and yanked him towards the other man, the two of them colliding before they even knew what happened.

"Erik!" Odette cried, shoving him out of the way as a gunshot rang out in the air, a third man stepping out from the shadows.

"_Mon Belle_!" he cried without a second thought, ignoring the sharp sting in his shoulder.

"Hey! What's all this?!" a night-guard shouted as he rounded the corner and caught them all on the scene.

The gunman ran off, leaving his friends behind as the policeman called for his partner and ran towards them. Odette gasped as she saw blood seeping out of Erik's shoulder, staining his dark, pristine clothes. "Oh no! Erik-!" she cried, touching his face.

"_Mon Belle_, are you hurt?" he asked, forcing himself up as the police arrived.

"No…_non, mon Ange_," she whispered, embracing him cautiously. "I'm fine…I'm all right now."

* * *

**A/N: **A huge thank you to everyone who left a review - it meant so much to me and I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you all enjoyed this one just as much as let me know what you thought of it. I've got ideas I'd like to add in to make the story(s) more intriguing, so we'll have to wait and see what happens next ;) Until next time!


	17. What You Have Before You

**A/N: ** Thank you all so much for your continued support! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you think :) See you next time!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen – What You Have Before You**

Claude was miserable as he slunk through the darkness, making his way towards the open bar that stood several blocks away from the _Palais Garnier_. His hands were still shaking from the ordeal, and he knew that his employer would not be pleased at the news. Adjusting his bowler hat, he patted his side, where the gun remained after his attempt at the man known as Chevalier. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it again, especially not against _him_. Stepping into the facility, he walked towards a lone man at a table in the corner, the area lit by a flickering, weak light that did nothing to soothe his nerves. Taking a seat, he kept his hands to his sides and glanced at the man across the rickety, filthy table.

The gentleman casually loosened his tie before picking up his glass, swirling the bourbon around with vague interest. "I take it you failed, considering the other two idiots aren't here. What happened?"

"The night-watch, _monsieur_," Claude answered gruffly, looking around to see only a handful of men here at this hour. He didn't like it…it was much too quiet. "They was patrollin' the area and came to help. I barely made it out. You should've seen 'im – he moved faster than a demon! And that thread he brought with 'im…like some invisible lasso-!"

"What?!" his employer gasped, nearly dropping his drink. "And invisible-like thread, you say?"

"Yessir…and the way Chevalier's eyes glowed in the dark…looked like some possessed cat-man, he did!" He chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched Destin Monette hum to himself, scratching his cheek as he contemplated the situation. "Sir…?"

"I really ought to kill you for being an utter disappointment…however, I'm in a generous mood tonight." Waving his hand careless, he snapped, "Get out. I don't want to see you again."

"Yessir."

Destin watched the fool fumble over his own two feet before running his finger over the rim of his glass, his mind churning as he took the puzzle pieces and started to place them together. If what the goon said was true, then Chevalier and the 'Phantom' had more in common than he thought…could it be they were the same person? No…they had different faces, perhaps they were related…or perhaps Chevalier wore a mask and that ghoul that attacked him was the real face…or vice versa…?

Heaving an exhausted sigh, Destin swallowed his drink and placed his money on the table, grabbing his coat before stalking out of the place. Pursing his lips in thought, he knew he would have to keep away from Odette and Chevalier for the time being, until the excitement from the attack died down a bit. He'd also have to find a way to silence the two idiots who let themselves get caught. Until then, he would remain silent and still, like a snake coiled and waiting to lunge for its prey.

"_I really ought to visit Grandmama one of these days, Eloise wrote that she wasn't feeling too well…but I'm so busy, and I have to keep an eye on Odette…Grandmama will have to wait…"_

**~OG~**

It wasn't until after the police had asked some brief questions in Erik's parlor and tended to his wound that they finally bid them a good-night, taking the two hooligans into custody and checking around town to try and catch the last figure. Odette worked tirelessly as she ran to and from the kitchen, bringing tea, hot water, and towels as she tended to Erik's wound.

"There's no need to be so concerned," Erik chuckled, biting back a grunt as she started to bandage his shoulder.

"There's plenty of reasons to be concerned," she answered sternly, looking adorable as she pouted at him. "You nearly got killed!"

"Bah," he waved it off with his good arm. "I've been through worse."

"I do wish you'd remove your shirt – it would make this easier and less painful," she insisted, raising an eyebrow as he sheepishly looked away.

"…I'd much rather keep the shirt on," he said, sighing when she gave him another stern look. Grumbling, he unbuttoned his soiled shirt and carefully shrugged it off with her help. He fought with himself not to squirm before her as she glanced at him every so often.

Odette felt her face and neck burn as she found herself stealing glances at his torso. He was rather thin, but he was sculpted, as though Michelangelo himself had carved him. He was strong and lean, his taut muscles showing through his pale skin…and then, there was the pink scar that cut across his chest, just under the ribcage. "Oh…!" she breathed, realizing what it was.

"Just a memento from the war," he murmured, moving his good hand to cover the mark. He froze as she gently ran her fingers over the scar, almost as if caressing it lovingly. He relished the feel of her hands on his skin, biting his tongue as so not to sigh. All too quickly, she returned her attention to his wounded shoulder, using all of the gauze she had available.

"Whose locket is that?" she asked, startling him.

Dipping his head down, he caught sight of the golden trinket that remained around his neck. Chuckling, he tapped at the little disk. "My mother's. I couldn't bear to part with my parents when they passed away, so I kept this. It has their portraits."

"If it's…not rude of me…when did they pass away?" she asked cautiously, pinning the last of the bandage into place before reaching for the tea tray and preparing them a cup of the steaming beverage.

"I was seventeen," he answered, leaning back into his chair as he stared at the dancing flames of the hearth. "They died together – both of them caught pneumonia…I'm glad they went together, though. I don't think Papa would have lasted without Maman, and she wouldn't be herself completely once he was gone…but I took their passing the hardest. I looked up to my father, he was my hero…and I adored my mother. She…" _"She thought my face was beautiful."_ "…she was very loving and understanding." He accepted the teacup from Odette, blowing softly on the liquid as the steam lazily drifted off the surface.

"…my father wasn't always a drunk, you know."

He glanced towards her, raising an eyebrow as she suddenly spoke. Odette stared at the fire, clutching the cup to her breast as she let her mind wander, her lips reciting what she saw in her mind. "Papa was a good man…he took care of us, he never had debts…but that was before Victor died."

Erik watched as her eyes became watery, her hands shaking as she confessed all that she knew. "Victor was my older brother. I was about six when he died. Victor was…ambitious, I suppose…he wanted to see the world, and he defied father often. It was his thirteenth birthday, and Papa had scolded him for saying he wanted to visit some friends in Paris. If the trip went well, he planned to visit Marseilles and travel to the neighboring countries to see if he could make his fortune…he and Papa got into a terrible fight, so he hopped onto the horse and took off as it started raining…Papa said he would be back within the next few days, that he would never dare to do such a thing…the next morning, village sheriff knocked on the door and said he had terrible news…"

Odette sobbed, setting her tea aside as she covered her face with her hands. "…he was…thrown off the horse on his way to town…the lightning spooked the animal and it slipped down a slope…Victor died at once…"

"Odette…" His voice curled around her like a warm, comforting blanket, as she opened her bleary eyes and looked up at him. When he motioned for her to come closer, she rested her head upon his lap and wept, letting him run his fingers through her choppy hair. He hummed to her, soothing her as the memory of her brother stung her heart, soon followed by the events that followed.

"After he died, Papa felt guilty and started to drink…he wanted to forget he had a family…the War came and went unnoticed by him…he started gambling and getting into trouble…Maman and I wanted to go, but there was no one we could turn to…and then, when I was thirteen years old, there was a fire in the house. I woke up and there were flames everywhere. Papa was shouting at Maman and the next thing I knew one of the beams collapsed and she was crushed. My way downstairs was blocked and I was utterly frightened."

"How did the fire start?" he asked, cocking his head at her. He remembered the events all too well, even recalling how her father had a faint scent of alcohol rolling off of his breath.

"Papa knocked over a gas lamp when he fought with Maman…it spread quickly – our home was mostly composed of wood…he didn't snap out of his stupor until after he was out of the house." She sighed, placing her hand over his knee. "Papa's not abusive, Erik…he's addicted, I suppose, to that numb state of mind, where he can't remember what he did or said or promised, so he remains stuck in the same rut for years…that's why we were so in debt…and you saved me both times."

"Both times?" he echoed, his brows furrowed as he looked at her, meeting her green eyes with his golden ones. "What-?"

"You paid off all our debts and continue to send Papa money so he can get well. Pauline – my neighbor, the one who's caring for him – she manages the money now, and she says if it wasn't for the money you sent, she wouldn't be able to pay the doctor…and then of course, there's the time you saved me from the fire."

"I couldn't let you die-" He stopped, his eyes widening as he realized he had slipped up. He couldn't have saved her because 'Angel' was the one who claimed to be her guardian, the one who rescued her from the flaming house! "I…I mean…I believe you're mistaken-"

"Erik…_Angel_…when will you show me your real face?"

He gaped at her as she asked him, calm and patient. Instantly, he recalled when they had been attacked outside his home – she had called him "_mon Ange_"…she had never called him that, not as 'Erik Chevalier', anyways. She couldn't possibly know the truth…could she? "…I…don't understand-"

"You think I haven't noticed your eyes, how they gleam the same way as the Phantom's, especially in the dark? You call me 'my dear', you treat me as though I'm the finest lady in all of France, you compose beautiful music…when Erik is here, Angel is not, and vice versa. You called me '_mon Belle_' when we were attacked…that's Angel's nickname for me."

He stared at her, listening to her soft, soothing voice, full of determination and confidence. She no longer appeared like the little trembling girl who came in her father's place…she held her head up and looked him in the eyes. She did not condone or accuse him…she only asked for the truth. To go on denying it would be useless and only cause more pain and confusion. He exhaled deeply, bowing his head in shame. "…_oui, mon Belle_…the Phantom, Angel, Erik Chevalier…they are all the same…you came selflessly and took your father's place and saw me as normal man in the office…I couldn't show up as this terrible Phantom with this face." He motioned towards his second skin, running his fingers through his dark hair. "So, I had to take on two personalities…one was a mysterious, hideous Phantom that saved you years ago, the other was a charming, normal gentleman that preferred solitude and took you in as his ward." Lifting his head, he saw that she still showed no signs of anger or hurt, only curiosity. "…you have every right to be angry with me-"

"I'm not…I'm going to sound silly, but I was…enchanted," she blushed, making his eyes widen in surprise. "I told Maddie the exact same thing before we left for the party-"

"_Madeleine_ told you?!" he bellowed, wincing as he leaned forth. "_Mon Dieu_, she was always horrible at keeping secrets!"

"It was an accident, Erik," Odette insisted, placing her hand on his bare chest and gently forcing him to sit back. Again, her face became warm as she touched him. Erik also flushed at her touch, praying that she couldn't feel his heartbeat pounding madly inside of him. "To be honest, I had my suspicions when I first arrive…mainly being that you and your alter ego knew sufficient amounts of personal information on one another and you were never in the same place at once."

He groaned, using his good hand to cover his face. "Eddie was right…this was never going to work, the whole dual identity thing…it's rather stupid when you think about it."

"I actually thought it was romantic," she murmured, still blushing. He chuckled at this, amused and somewhat proud that he had swept her off her feet. "…Erik?"

"Yes, _mon Belle_?"

"…take off this mask, won't you?"

He stiffened as he heard her, wincing as she touched his fake face. "…I-"

"I already know what you look like, and I love you nevertheless," she pleaded, looking up at him with her irresistible eyes. "Don't keep this barrier up anymore…if you truly love me-"

"Doesn't it bother you, Odette? That I am at least twice our age and deformed?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course it doesn't."

"Then give me your hand," he said, offering his open palm to her. She slipped her hand into his, rising so that she stood on her knees as he placed her hand by his temples, guiding her fingers so that she could find the flap of the skin mask. Cautiously, she tugged it off, watching in awe as his handsome face fell off to reveal his corpse-like countenance. "Oh…oh my! This mask…"

"My father invented it…I've toyed with the formula and structuring a few times," he admitted. His eyes met her once more, a twinge of fear creeping into his heart. "I…I could keep it on all the time-" The words died as she rose to her feet and pressed her lips to his, pulling away from him shortly afterwards.

"M-May I…?" she stammered, blushing as she neared him.

He laughed nervously, nodding as she sat on his lap, cautious of his injured shoulder. Snaking her arms around him, she pressed her forehead to his, whispering tenderly, "Whenever we can, I want to see you as who you truly are…you don't have to hide from me…Erik, I want to be with you always!"

"You're so young," he shook his head, though his arm betrayed him and pulled her in closer. "How can you know-?"

"I just do. I feel it, deep in here," she said, carefully taking his limp hand and placing it over her heart. He sucked in a breath of surprise and pleasure as he felt her heartbeat, pounding just as rapidly as his. "I've never wanted anyone or anything so badly in my life, Erik…you are all I know and love now…please, don't send me away-"

"Never," he breathed, daring to lean in and kiss her lips. "I'm afraid I inherited my father's impatience and greed…for someone to love, and to love me back…"

"Erik…"

He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face as she kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, even his awful half-nose, God bless her! She did it all so tenderly, so heartfelt…she pressed herself against his half-naked form and did not flinch or grimace. "_Mon Belle_…?"

"_Oui, mon Ange_?" she giggled, earning a smirk out of him. Her eyes watched in fascination as he deftly unclasped the locket from around his neck and gave it to her.

"Open it," he encouraged her.

Holding the trinket carefully in her palm, she clicked it open, a gasp of wonder escaping her as she stared at the two faces inside the necklace – one youthful and beautiful, the other as grotesque as Death itself. "Are these…?"

"My parents," he said, tapping the woman's portrait. "That's my mother, Angelique. She must have been about twenty when my father met her and made this."

Odette glanced at the woman's portrait that sat upon the mantle above the fireplace, matching her to be the lady in the locket. However, the man who stood with her in the portrait on the mantle looked very much like the face that Erik wore as a mask. "Then that man there," she pointed to the picture on the mantle. "…is the same man here." She tapped the tiny portrait of the corpse, his golden eyes matching Erik's.

"Yes…his name was also Erik." He watched her as she caressed the frame of the locket, gazing at the pictures in wonder rather than disgust. "…I would like you to have it."

She raised her face to him, stunned that he would give up such a valuable memento. "I couldn't-!"

"As a sign and vow of my affection for you," he insisted gently, curling his hand over hers, encasing the locket in her palm. "Odette…take care of it for me."

She stared at their hands, his overlapping hers, feeling the locket in her small palm. Pressing her lips together in defeat, she nodded as she looked into his eyes yet again. "I will." As his hand slipped away from hers, she clasped the chain around her neck, feeling the hot piece of metal resting against her collarbone. Snapping it shut, she placed her hands on either side of his face after brushing away stray tendrils of hair falling into his eyes. "You need to get some sleep, _mon Ange_."

He huffed, indignant. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

She shrugged at this, slipping off of his lap and collecting the forlorn tea set. "I had planned to pamper you, considering you saved my life. I'm supposed to be nursing you to health, after all."

His bit his tongue, avoiding her gaze. "My health is perfectly fine!"

"You know what I mean," she shook her head, a playful smile on her lips. "If I see that you're still here and not in bed, I'll be disappointed. I had hoped to stay by your side all right…I certainly don't want to sleep alone after what happened…and it's somewhat chilly tonight…oh well." With another careless shrug, she carried the tray to the kitchen, taking her sweet time as she poured out the leftover tea and rinsed the set. Stepping back into the parlor, she found that the fire had been put out and Erik had vanished. Grinning in delight, she hurried to her room and freshened up as quickly as she could, changing into her nightdress and robe before forcing herself to walk slowly to his room down the hall. Knocking on the door, she called out, "Erik?"

"In here."

Opening the door, she saw that he, too, had slipped into his night clothes and lay on the bed, reading a book by the light on his nightstand. "You took your time."

"I'm sorry," she apologized cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you changed your mind. You ought to get under the covers, though."

He shrugged his good shoulder, watching as she started to pull the chair from his desk over. "You could sit beside me," he offered, holding his breath as he awaited a response from her.

She paused, mulled it over a moment, then pushed the chair back into place, getting onto the bed and sliding under the covers. She leaned against him, raising her eyes to him. "Aren't I in the way?"

"No." He shut the book and tossed it onto the table, starting to lean back when she stopped him. "What?"

"Let me prop the pillows for you," she said, setting to work at once. "Don't laugh!" she pouted.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "You're simply…" He noticed how she stopped, waiting for his judgment. Smiling, he reached over and caressed her cheek. "Wonderful."

Blushing, she smiled shyly and finished her work.

"Odette?"

"Yes?" she asked, making herself comfortable beside him.

Gulping, he stammered, "Do you…would you want to…stay the night…here? I-I don't mean anything disrespectful by it – you're a young lady and I have the utmost respect for you, I just…you said you didn't want to be alone, and I thought that…that you meant it-"

"I do mean it," she murmured, resting her head upon his chest. Curling up beside him, she closed her eyes and sighed. "…I love you, Erik."

"And I…I love you, Odette," he whispered, kissing the top of her head as he leaned back and closed his eyes, wrapping his arm around her as he smiled. At last, he felt at peace.

**~OG~**

Jeanne glared at her reflection in the mirror. What was wrong with her? Everything was at her feet, she had everything she could have wanted…and it was slipping through her fingers. She couldn't believe what was going on. Odette had been chosen for the lead female role, she was improving with her lessons, and now even Erik Chevalier seemed to be taken in by her! The Phantom was nowhere to be seen, and she was sure she would go mad.

"Mademoiselle."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, looking around eagerly. "Phantom! I never expected to-"

"I'm afraid this _must_ be our final goodbye," he said, sounding weary as he spoke.

"No…no, please! I swear, I meant what I said! I love you! I'll leave Jonathan if that's what it takes-!"

"Jeanne, listen to yourself. Had I known I would cause this much trouble, I would have vanished altogether-"

"Don't!" she pleaded, falling to her knees as she wept. "Please, I'm sorry…it's just not fair! Odette has everything now-!"

"You still have everything…you could have more…but you must let me go."

"Never!" she cried. "Show yourself! Maybe if I kissed you, I could show you that I love you more than she does." There was a numb silence that floated over her head as she covered her face and cried, thinking that she had finally offended him so much that he had gone for good. "Please…let me prove it to you once and for all…!"

A hand on her shoulder made her gasp as she lifted her head and saw the masked figure kneeling before her. Her heart leapt with glee as she leaned forth wordlessly and claimed his mouth, startling him. She pressed her mouth to his hungrily, opening her lips enough to run her tongue over his lips. He did not moan or give her entrance into his mouth, however…rather, he seemed to press his lips even tighter together, a grunt of disapproval vibrating in his throat. Her eyebrows began to knit together as she realized that his lips weren't normal…there was something about them, about his skin, about his presence…it wasn't completely human. Pulling away, she opened her eyes and stared at his mask, suddenly curious and mortified as she thought that just perhaps there might be a bigger reason to wear a mask than to simply conceal his identity.

"Go on, then."

She blinked, stunned by his words. "What-?"

"Take my mask off," he encouraged her, his eyes shimmering at her, the hint of a challenge in his voice. "I know you're dying to see…lay this demon to rest and take it off…you'll see why this can't be."

Infuriated by his cruel message, she gripped the side of the white mask and yanked it off, dropping it the moment she saw his face. Her eyes widened in shock as she gaped at him, her hand covering her mouth as she stared and began to hyperventilate. "Y-Y-You…your-!"

"_Adieu_," he hissed, snapping his fingers. The lights went out, eliciting a scream out of her. The moment they came back on, he had vanished from sight.

Scrambling to her feet, she an out of the room, covering her mouth in an effort not to vomit. His face…it was of a decomposed corpse! She had to get away and-

"Oof! Jeanne, what's wrong?" Jonathan asked as she all but collided into him.

"Jon!" she gasped, clinging to him for support. "_Mon Dieu_, it was awful-!"

"Jeanne, please, I need a moment," he said sternly, holding her up by her shoulders. "I came in to say that I…I think we need to reconsider the marriage."

Her head snapped up at this, her stomach feeling like a stone inside of her, weighing her down with the horrible news that came by the minute. "Wh-What-?"

"This past month, ever since I proposed, I get the feeling that…that you don't really want to marry me," he sighed, slowly releasing her. "Perhaps we should call it off and-"

"Jon, please don't!" she begged, embracing him tightly. "I'm so sorry! All this here at the Opera House…it's been stressful lately, and now with Odette in the lead role…Jon, why don't we go away?"

"Go away?" he echoed, stunned by her urgency. "To where-?"

"Remember you said your family had a house in London? Couldn't we go? Oh please, Jon, I just need to get away from all this! I can prove that I do love you, I can! Please, just give me a chance?" She would do anything to get away from here to think, to reconnect with her fiancé, to avoid Odette and especially the Phantom…she couldn't bear to face him again, not after seeing his face, and especially not after the way she reacted. She was going to lose everything if she didn't at least follow his advice – _"Time to let me go."_

"Well, if the managers are all right with it, I suppose we could go within the next three days," Jonathan suggested, accepting the desperate embrace from his fiancée.

"Oh, thank you!" she breathed, hiding her face into the crook of his neck. "Thank you…!"

**~OG~**

Gerard, Eddie, and Albert gawked at Erik, stunned by what he had told them that had ensued in the last week.

"…well," Albert gulped, staring at his friend in awe.

"You've been busy since the party," Eddie noted, sipping his glass of wine as he sat down in Erik's parlor. The two friends and elder brother had been invited with their families for supper that weekend, gathering in the main room while the women and Alain went to the kitchen to work and sample the meal, respectively.

"That explains what happened with Jeanne Favre," Gerard grimaced. "_Merde_, Erik! Letting her see your face?!"

"She doesn't know it's me," he reassured him. "How else could I get her to understand that is wasn't meant to be? And the way she reacted…" His fists clenched tightly, his forehead wrinkled as his brows met. "…it was the reassurance I needed to be certain that I made the right choice…I love Odette."

"Erik, you've only known her a month, you can't say you're in love with her…and she's a child, for God's sake!" Gerard hissed, glancing towards the kitchen.

"In Erik's defense, your parents fell in love within the same time span," Eddie smirked. "And your father was fifty when he met your twenty-year-old mother, isn't that right?"

"Erik, must you tell our brother-in-law _everything_ about our past?" Gerard glared at the American.

Erik laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't give him specifics – it must have been Maddie!"

"What're you saying about me?!" Madeleine's voice rang out from the kitchen.

"Nothing!" Eddie called back.

"Erik, what about the men who attacked you?" Albert asked, his brows knitting together as he looked to his friend. His arm remained in a sling, and would have to stay that way at least for another month or two.

"The police haven't found anything yet, and the two culprits they _did_ catch have fallen ill…convenient, isn't it?" Erik mused, scratching his chin in contemplation. "I'm sure I won't need to go looking for trouble…it usually follows me in close suit."  
"Well, we'll be here for you, no matter what," Eddie swore, his solemn face twisting into a mischievous grin. "Now, may I make a suggestion as to what to do with your lovely ward?"

"That depends…I'm not sure how to take that ridiculous grin you're wearing right now," Erik answered, raising an eyebrow at him.

"All right, gentlemen!" Odette laughed, poking her head into the parlor as she beamed at them. Her face was dusted with flour, her hair curling wildly around her smiling face. The apron she wore fluttered lightly around her knees as she waved her hand at them. "Supper's on the table in the dining room!"

Erik winked at her, earning a giggle from the girl as she shut the door after her. "You were saying, Ed?"

The red-headed gent grinned at his friend, jerking his thumb in the direction of the kitchen door. "Marry her."


	18. Sins of the Parents

**A/N: ** Remember when I said I might take this in a direction that some readers may not like? Well...this is it. You'll know once you get to italics. Please be kind and let me know what you think of it. This is what I imagine could have happened and it's now a part of the story, so take it as you like it. I hope you all come back next time to continue reading. Thank you for your continued support! PS - I don't own "Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen – Sins of the Parents**

_Two Months Later…_

"Well done. Let's wrap it up for the night," Gerard nodded, motioning for everyone to disperse. Glancing over to his little brother, he gave a slight groan upon seeing his face. "Oh, _merde_…you're mesmerized already, aren't you?"

"Don't be absurd, Gerry. The ballerinas' _pirouettes_ look like drunken tops spinning, and that violinist needs some fine tuning-"

"You mean the violin?"

"No, the violinist – he's utterly atrocious. Other than that, it's nearly perfect!"

Gerard was torn – smack his own forehead or give his brother's ear a fierce tug before the still full auditorium. He settled for pinching the bridge of his nose instead. "You're absolutely infuriating…"

"But I'm right, and you know it," Erik smirked, his eyes moving towards the stage once again where he saw Odette cooing over one of the younger ballerinas that had just started with the company. The poor child had tripped over her own shoes and skinned her knee. She was frightened and still getting to know the other girls, so she clung to the young woman, blindly trusting her like a newborn kitten.

"I'm starting to wonder if you should take Ed's advice and actually marry her," Gerard suggested slyly, watching Erik as he observed her motherly behavior.

"I want to give her time, Gerry."

"Stop calling me that, Erik."

"No. I'm serious…she's still very young, she has her whole life ahead of her-"

"This _is_ her life now," Gerard insisted. "She's happy with you…at least consider-"

"Gerard, if I had it my way, I would have married her on the spot when she first kissed my face," Erik confessed, shaking his head. "No, brother…I want a proper courtship and I want to be at leisure…when the time is right, I'll ask her."

Gerard stroked his moustache as he listened to his brother, impressed with how serene he was and firm in his resolve. Years ago, he was an impulsive young man who ran off and did what he deemed was right…he had changed significantly these past few years. Patting his brother's shoulder with a look of admiration in his eyes, he nodded at the young woman that now approached them. "Then go, enjoy your courtship," he winked, fixing his jacket as he prepared to return home to his own family.

**~OG~**

Humiliating…it was utterly humiliating, having been reduced to such a state! The early October wind howled outside his car windows, as if mocking him for the past two months of failure. This trip, hopefully, would prove to be of some solace to him…his grandmother always seemed to know just what to say.

Destin was insulted to find that his ban on entering the _Palais Garnier_ still stood as strongly as the first day they enforced it. The Chevalier brothers were adamant, and even called the police when he tried to break in to speak with Odette Delacroix – a stupid move, but he was desperate. He had won her, she was promised to him…and now these idiot men who had no idea what was going on were shielding her from him. He couldn't tell the police that he owned her now – that would most likely send him to the station for questioning and looking into his private affairs, and that was the last thing he wanted. Successful lawyer though he was, he dabbled in a few illegal affairs that would probably place him behind bars anywhere between a few months to several years, depending on what they could dig up.

And then there was Valerie.

His fingers gripped the wheel so hard that his they nearly became blue. He could still remember the anger she had shown when he suggested that she get rid of the baby they had created from so many little rendezvouses in the dark. Of all the prostitutes he could have gone to, _she_ chose to keep the blasted child and starts giving him some stupid story about how she wants to change her life to make things right for the kid! All those things he had promised her, he couldn't give her anything to help her, much less a child, not with all the time he spent trying to take Odette back. He'd made no further attempts in trying to attack, but he wouldn't stop trying to sneak into the _Garnier_, or even passing by Chevalier's home. Still, he wasted so much time that he hadn't done a case in months – the judge was furious seeing him slip up as he arrived late to one of his hearings, telling him to go and find another town if he wasn't serious about showing up in Rouen for even a simple case. Bernard Delacroix's condition was worsening, and there was no point in extorting him for anything since he was utterly clueless about Odette these days, and his caretaker Pauline wouldn't utter a peep.

So it was that Destin Monette drove like a madman through the empty, silent countryside of Le Havre, his eyes scanning the dark until he caught sight of the little house he was so familiar with. Hitting the brakes, he parked the car and braced himself. Eloise, his grandmother's caretaker, was a firm woman who didn't take nonsense from anyone. She would not be pleased that after all this time of trying to get him to come in, he would be dropping by out of the blue after having ignored her pleas for nearly two months. Still, at least he knew Grandmaman would understand him.

Really, the woman was more like his mother. His real mother had up and left him when he was seven to be with some German whom she had nursed to health. He hadn't seen her since and he was glad – he and his Grandmaman shared a unique bond…he didn't need anyone else.

Before his fist even hit the door, it swung open, and there was Eloise, glaring at him imposingly. She was a middle-aged woman, her dark hair streaked with gray at the forehead and temples. She was unusually tall for woman, reaching at about five-foot-seven, allowing her to tilt her head just a smidge to meet his eyes. "You wretch!" she snapped, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest, sending him falling back a step. "Ungrateful, miserable wretch! _Now_ you come, after all this time I've been calling and writing-!"

"_Bonsoir_ to you, too, Eloise," he sniffed, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. "Where's Grandmaman-?"

"In her room, of course, lying on her deathbed!" snapped the woman. "The doctor claims she won't last another day, let alone a week! Mistress Amelie's been waiting for you-!"

"Let me in," he barked, shoving past the stubborn, yapping woman, ignoring her as he strode into the little cottage and knocked on the door. "Grandmaman?"

"Destin…come…"

He took a step back at the sound of her voice, a deathly rattle that shook him to the core. Taking a deep breath, he entered the dark room, shutting the door after him before he walked to her bedside and sat down on the little stool beside her bed. He wanted to grimace as he saw her face – ragged, ravaged by time with wrinkles and sagging skin. Her thin white hair sat in a loose braid that hung over her shoulder, her amber eyes faded and dull as she had succumbed to blindness in her old age. "I knew you would come, one way or another," she coughed, reminding Destin of drunken old Bernard Delacroix. He squirmed, suddenly uncertain of being so close to her. "Something ails you…I can sense it."

Chewing his bottom lip, he wrestled with himself before finally grunting in defeat. "…it's about a girl."

"Hmph. That doesn't surprise me," she sneered contemptuously, looking even more gruesome as he face twisted into a frown. "How many times have I told you not to let 'love' cloud your vision?!"

"Odette is supposed to be _mine_!" he snarled, running his fingers through his hair, aggravated. "It has nothing to do with love – it's about ownership!"

"Ah…I see," she mused, hacking a little more before squeezing her eyes in pain. "So take the girl already."

"I can't. She's being protected…by some nonsensical demon from Hell and the Chevalier family-!"

"Chevalier?!" she choked, her eyes widening as she echoed the name. She gripped his hand tightly, making him wince as he felt her bones through her papery skin. "The Chevalier family…it thrives on?!"

He gaped at her, stunned by her urgency. "…the Chevaliers are the owners and managers of the _Palais Garnier_, Grandmaman. Odette is under the protective of Erik Chevalier the Second-"

"Mon Dieu, it's worse than I thought!" she cried, shaking her head in denial. "It's not possible! How could he have continued the bloodline…?!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" he frowned, leaning in closer to her. "How do you know the Chevaliers?"

"It was so long ago…I thought I had destroyed their chances…for happiness," she wheezed, still clinging onto him. "It was years ago, when I was just a young, stupid girl…"

* * *

_May, 1832_

_Rouen, France_

"_Amelie!"_

_The voice of the cook made her squeak in surprise, rising off of the lush green grass that surrounded the Chevalier home on the south-west outskirts of Rouen. Amelie Monette scrambled to her feet, yanking the flowers out of her ebony hair before that awful woman could see them. She always had a bone to pick with Amelie, and it drove her mad. Fixing her apron, she ran back into the house and tried to slide through the kitchen to avoid Madame Germain._

"_Amelie!"_

_No such luck._

_The sixteen-year-old girl bit her tongue and rolled her bright amber eyes before facing the plump, overbearing woman. "Yes, Madame?"_

"_Stop fooling around, there are chores to be done!" the lady snapped, pointing to the basket of laundry that had yet to be folded and put away. "It's high time to get your head out of the clouds! The master is coming home today, and the house needs to be spotless for his guests!"_

"_I'm working, I'm working!" Amelie snapped back, growling as she snatched the basket and stomped off, eager to get away from the woman. She couldn't wait until the master got home – he was always quick to side with Amelie, no matter what. She smirked and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Master Francois, _Comte de Chevalier_, always had a soft spot for her…she knew he fancied her. Someday, she would be mistress of this fine home and have beautiful babies running around. It didn't matter that the master was at least twice he age – he was handsome with midnight locks and rich chocolate eyes, his face sculpted by the angels to match his tall, muscular body. He was perfect…and she was, too. Really, what other option was there?_

_Nightfall couldn't come quickly enough, the day seeming to drag on until dusk, when Chevalier's guests finally arrived at the estate for another little party of his. He arrived on horseback, his deep baritone laugh sending shivers down Amelie's spine. She curtsied to him with the other servants as he entered the threshold, stealing a glance at him as he walked past them._

"_Amelie, you'll only get into trouble if you keep telling yourself those little fantasies of yours," Estelle, another maid in the household, warned her as they were dismissed into the kitchen to wash dishes._

"_You wait and see – Francois will be mine someday," Amelie sighed dreamily, causing her friend to roll her eyes at her._

"_One of you go out and collect the empty glasses while I fill up new ones, yah?" the Swedish maiden Helga asked as she entered the room, hurrying towards the counter and reaching for the wine bottle._

_Amelie groaned, gathering her skirts before snatching a clean tray and stepping back into the open drawing room, now filled with a crowd of fine people. Someday, she would be the one hosting the party and not cleaning up after these people-_

"Pardon_!" she gasped as she nearly bumped into a well-dressed figure. The man chuckled, attracting her attention at once as he offered his hand to her._

"_Pardon me, _mademoiselle,_" Francois winked, kissing her hand. "I was clumsy. Are you well?"_

_She nodded her head, her cheeks becoming pink at once. "Y-Yes…please excuse me." She slipped away, her heart thumping madly within her breast as she bit back a sigh of delight. Oh, how she wished he would kiss her lips instead of her hand! She ignored the clinking of glass as the Comte's father made an exciting announcement, continuing to collect forlorn, empty glasses._

"…_I would like to introduce my son's fiancée, Lady Brier de Karelle," the old gentleman beamed, motioning a beautiful brunette forth, with eyes that shone like golden flecks on a crown._

_The glass in Amelie's hand slipped and hit the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces, like her heart. She watched, mortified as the man she loved joined hands with the fine lady and kissed her chastely before the crowd, earning their applause and approval. An invisible knife buried itself in her heart as she saw her dreams slip away instantly. Gone was her hope to marry the eligible, charming bachelor…he had made her believe she was the one who would keep his heart and broke it…_

…_so she would break them._

* * *

_She clutched the little bottle in her fist, calmly walking into the kitchen that evening. It had been a month since the announcement of the engagement, and tonight was their wedding night. She was determined to resolve the matter once and for all. Both husband and wife would pay for her aching, torn soul._

"_Set this wine in the room, Amelie," Madame Germain said, waving at the prepared tray. _

_Amelie nodded, taking the bottle and glasses out of the room and up towards the second floor of the fine house, setting the tray upon the nightstand. She poured the wine into each glass and set it aside, glanced over her shoulder, then opened the little bottle hidden in her possession. She sniffed the dark liquid inside, pursing her lips in surprise as she couldn't smell anything. Carefully, she followed the old pagan woman's instructions, letting three drops of the strange poison fall and mingle with the wine in both glasses. The witch promised her that the results would be worthwhile…Amelie couldn't help but shudder as she remembered how the old hag smiled at her, her face gnarled and twisted as she gave a wicked smile, telling her she would give her the poison as a gift, no charge for the dangerous tonic. Shutting the lid, she slipped it into the pocket of her apron and walked out, waiting for her master and mistress to return home from the wedding party…_

* * *

_They lived…_

_She pulled her hair as she bit her lip, fighting back the urge to scream. The old hag _promised_ they would suffer! They had drunk the poison over a month ago, both of them falling ill after their honeymoon…a month of fighting the drug that tainted their bodies…and they still lived! Francois was well enough now, but there was something different about him…he was no longer playful or kind. The Comte had become haggard during his illness, stern and impatient, demanding perfection out of everyone. His only solace was when he played music on the piano or violin. The Comtesse, in turn, was weak and usually stayed indoors. She only found happiness in singing, for she had a lovely voice that all women envied._

_To add insult to injury, the weakened, sick couple found that they were pregnant._

"_Perhaps," Amelie whispered to herself in her room. "The poison will kill both mother and child in time…"_

* * *

_October 13, 1833_

_Brier screamed in agony as she fought to give birth to the child within her womb. Amelie was sent to and from the kitchen to the master bedroom to collect clean towels, fresh water, and wine. Every scream that tore out of Brier's mouth brought a pinch of pleasure to the servant girl. She hoped that the baby would be dead, and with it, the mother…_

_A baby's wail made her stop in her tracks. Her heart stopped as she realized what had happened…the baby was alive…no one shouted in joy or relief as they heard the baby whimper, however. Did Brier die…? Running as fast as she could, she entered the room, stunned to find everyone staring in horror or turning away in disgust._

"_What is it?" she asked timidly, jumping back as Francois stormed out of the room, never looking back. "What's wrong…? Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth as her stomach lurched at the sight of the tiny body. She wasn't even sure it was a baby…it looked like a shriveled, rotten corpse! The skin was an unnatural yellow color, the purple veins showing through his papery skin. The little beast had no nose, just a gaping hole in the center of his face. His lips were transparent, his body thin and skeletal…he had several stray black hairs that were plastered to his unsightly skull…and the eyes! His golden eyes stared out at them from the deep, black sockets they were set in._

"Mon Dieu_!" the midwife choked, making a sign of the Cross. Even Brier cried out and scooted away from the baby. _

_Swallowing back the bile that had worked its way up her throat, Amelie forced herself to stare at the baby, a malicious sense of pride blooming within her. _"It worked after all…it really worked!"

* * *

_October, 1838_

_She was all that was left._

_Everyone had deserted the Chevalier home, sworn to secrecy about the hideous, incredible child that their master and mistress had created. She pitied and hated little Erik…she couldn't explain it. Amelie supposed it had something to do with the music he composed. That strange boy was given a strange name, something that wouldn't link him to his father or ancestors. Of all the people that had worked for the Chevaliers, Amelie was the only one who insisted on staying. She wanted to watch the family suffer, and sure enough, day by day, it only got worse._

_Brier was always sick and wandered the house from room to room, as if searching for an unseen cure to fix this mess. She did not hate her son…but she feared him. Francois, on the other hand, detested the sight of Erik so much that he had never seen his face since his birth. The mask was his very first scrap of clothing, fashioned hastily to cover the abomination that was considered a face. The child could not fathom why his parents didn't want to touch him, and in time he gave up trying to win their affections. Yesterday, Amelie heard the boys screech in terror. Running at once, she found him in his mother's room, the mask lying on the floor as he pointed in utter fear upon seeing his face in the mirror for the first time. His first bits of innocence were shattered, and he had become distant since that pitiful moment._

_Amelie hurried outside to toss the bucket of dirty mop water into the dead flowerbeds that stood sadly at the front of the house. Wiping her brow, she heaved a sigh of exhaustion and entered once more, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. Stepping into the washroom, she set the bucket aside and moved towards the pile of shirts that needed washing when someone grabbed her shoulders from behind and spun her around. She gasped in fright, her eyes widening at the sight of her master looking down on her, lust shining in his dark eyes._

"_Comte-?!" she started, becoming stiff as he bent his head and claimed her mouth, hungry and possessive. She surrendered at once, moaning into his mouth as he bit her bottom lip, his hands grabbing her hair and waist to draw him in closer. She feel his anger, his frustration…the disappointment of having a monster for a child, a weakened, worthless wife who bore him the creature he should have called "son"._

_He drew back quickly, staring into her eyes as she blinked in awe, still star-struck by the kiss. "Meet me tonight in the stables at midnight," he said quietly into her ear, nibbling her earlobe before walking away as though nothing had happened._

_Placing her hand over her heart, she felt a smile break onto her face. Finally…_finally_! He noticed her…and he wanted her. She waited impatiently for the day to die, sneaking out to the near-empty stables and curling in his embrace as the lay on the hay that night, moaning each other's names as they gave themselves to each other, their caresses and whispers sending shivers down one another's spines. It was the best night of her life._

* * *

_August, 1842_

_Four years…for four years, Amelie relished her love affair with her beloved Comte, smiling smugly to herself each day, knowing that at last, her hard work had paid off. She acted no differently before Brier or Erik during that time – she didn't want them to know what was happening…especially not Erik. _

_He was a genius – a young, hideous, frightening genius. He mastered a plethora of talents, ranging from architecture to music to ventriloquism to creating his own inventions. He was a wonder…but his face barred him from any ounce of admiration and much less love. When he had vanished one night and run away, Brier was in a fit of tears, blaming herself for never having the courage to hug her own child. Francois snapped at her to be silent, betting that the nine-year-old child would be back within a few days. When a month had passed and he did not return, Brier passed on in her sleep._

_It had been a year since both mother and son were gone, signaling a great triumph for Amelie…but all she felt was bitterness. She had hoped that Francois would fall in love with her, but instead she became an outlet to relieve himself of stress, frustration, and guilt. He drowned in sorrows in her arms, taking her to bed when he felt the longing to hold his wife, to apologize to his child…_

…_and then _she_ showed up._

_Amelie hated that poor wench that moved into the farmland with her family, staying on the Comte de Archambault's grounds as a harvester. Francois freshened up to go into town now, treating the young woman kindly when she came in to buy supplies for her family. Amelie was certain she would be no longer wanted…especially not after finding out that she was with child. If Francois couldn't be hers, she would not let him belong to anyone else. She had learnt her lesson – this time, he would not survive._

_As twilight descended upon the land, she went about her business, cleaning her master's room and pouring out a bit of wine for him. Quickly, she withdrew the hidden vial of poison from nearly a decade ago, hoping that it was still as potent. Without a second thought, she dumped the bottle's contents completely into the drink before stuffing the item into her apron. Hearing the footsteps of the Comte as he entered the house, she carelessly tore her skirt to reveal her leg before unbuttoning the top of her blouse._

_The moment he entered the room, his lust consumed him. He took her then and there, oblivious that this would be the last time he would ever do such a thing._

"_Here, you must be parched," she offered, her voice sultry as she handed him his glass._

_He accepted, gratefully gulping down the fluids. Almost instantly, the cup fell from his hand as he choked, grasping his throat._

"_Hmm…I suppose it was a matter of potency…I should have added more the first time," she noted, slipping out of the bed and getting dressed at her leisure._

"_Y-You…!" he hacked, reaching out desperately as blood trickled down his mouth._

"_You hurt me ever since I came to work here," she frowned. "You broke my heart!...so I ruined your life. I put poison in your wine on your wedding night, but it didn't kill you or Brier, or the blasted baby for that matter! So now, I'm sending you off to meet them. After all…" She rubbed her hand over her belly, raising an eyebrow at him accusingly. "It's not like you would care for my little darling once he or she is born…not with you chasing after that other tramp." Leaning down, she kissed his gaping mouth as he stared at her with horrified, bloodshot eyes. "_Adieu_, Francois," she murmured, snatching the key to his desk's safe in the study before leaving him to perish. _

_Taking the bountiful amounts of money he had stored, she gathered her belongings before setting the place ablaze with every gas lamp she could find. Walking out calmly to the stables and taking the lonely horse Francois had owned, she rode away into the night, her past dead, her future unwritten._

* * *

Destin stared at his wheezing grandmother, his stomach churning at the story she had confessed to him. "…you can't be-"

"Don't believe me?! Here…check the bureau!" she demanded, coughing violently as she struggled to breathe. She waited until he dug out an old, fraying book, bringing it to her side. "This was my diary…I wrote in it every day before your mother was born…your mother was a little angel, unfortunately…she hated how I viewed life…that's why she up and left and abandoned you…you were too much like me." Grabbing his arm, she yanked him towards her, her blind eyes staring at him as she gasped, "I thought I had destroyed that blasted family…I have failed…Destin, kill this Erik Chevalier…or at least destroy his happiness! Avenge me, my dear boy…if nothing else, at least do that for me…"

"Don't worry, Grandmaman, I shall," he reassured her, squeezing her hand when suddenly, she jerked away, her faded eyes darting all over the room.

"He's here!" she choked, trembling under the covers.

"Who?" he asked, raising his eyes to scan the place. There was no one, not even Eloise was in here. "Who is it?!"

"Erik," she gasped, shaking her head violently as she spoke to the boy whose life she had ruined. "No…it can't be! N-agh…_ack_!" Her head fell back, her fists uncurling as she collapsed against the pillows, the last bit of breath escaping her as she passed away.

Placing his hand upon her face, he closed her eyes and stood up, rubbing his thumb over his grandmother's private diary. A snarl grew upon his lips as he thought of the deformed creatures that had become so fortunate…those creatures that he was distantly related to! "I _will_ avenge you, Grandmaman," he vowed in a hiss, tucking the book into his coat pocket. "I shall…or die trying."


	19. Of the Past and Future

**A/N: ** Sorry for the wait everyone! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, I thought a little cameo was called for by the end of this portion. Until next time!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen – Of the Past and Future**

"This is so exciting!" Marie beamed as she and Madeleine drove up to Erik's house to drop Odette off. "I can't wait to see you perform tomorrow! I've been dying to see another show, and now you'll be the lead! I know you'll do beautifully!"

"Thank you," Odette blushed, running her fingers through her dark hair. It had grown out significantly, bangs bobbed over her forehead while her curly locks were starting to grow down her neck, framing her youthful face. "I hope I don't disappoint-"

"You won't," Madeleine laughed, kissing her forehead. "Now get inside or my brother will have a panic attack. We'll see you tomorrow!"

Odette slipped out of the vehicle and waved at them before entering the house, locking the door after her. There had been no attacks since the night of the party months ago, but she had the uneasy sense that there was more to what had happened. Entering the house, she inhaled deeply, smiling as she smelled warm cider. "Erik?"

"In the kitchen!" he called out.

Giddy, she ran into the room, seeing him pour the steaming beverage into two mugs. "I take it you and my sister had a delightful time shopping?" he smirked, seeing the bag upon her arm.

"I just bought a set of winter boots," she answered, sitting down at the table with him, happily accepting the beverage. She blew softly on the drink, gingerly slipping the liquid. Odette closed her eyes as the spiced, warm drink spread over her tongue and slid down her throat, warming her from within. "Mmmh…it's perfect!" Opening her eyes, she found Erik watching her as he, too, sipped his drink, a half smile forming on his artificial lips. "…Erik? Take your mask off…please?"

He smiled at her, shaking his head as he set the mug down. "You never cease to amaze me," he confessed, cautiously pulling his second skin from his face before setting it down on the table. "You actually want to see this face-?"

"Yes," she answered, reaching over to caress his cheek with the back of her hand. She took his hand and kissed it, hearing him suck in a breath of surprise. He was still unfamiliar with these touches, but he enjoyed them, and she wanted to make certain he knew that she loved him no matter what. "I bought you something."

"For me? My birthday isn't until April," he teased.

She giggled, releasing him so that she could dig around her bag before withdrawing a slender rectangular box, placing it in his hands. "I do hope you like it."

"I already cherish it," he winked, ripping the shimmering red paper off the box before tugging the lid off. His eyes were entranced by the sight of a slender black fountain pen with golden accents. Lovingly, he lifted the item out of the box and turned it, catching sight of two interesting marks. The initials "E.C." had been engraved delicately on one side, while the other contained the initials "O.G." "My, my…it's beautiful."

"It's got red ink," she informed him, grinning as his eyes lit up.

"You don't say?!" he asked, looking like a child on Christmas with his new toy. "Let's test it!" He hopped out of his seat, snatching a scrap of paper from an old recipe Madeleine had leant to them. Quickly, he sat down beside his beloved before daring to scribble Odette's name on the paper. He laughed in delight as the blood red liquid beautiful slid onto the parchment, a bold statement compared to the usual black ink he used. "My own custom pen with red ink…it's beautiful, _mon Belle_…not as beautiful as you, though."

"You always say such things," she blushed shyly as he kissed her hand.

"Because they are true," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. He loved the way her eyes shone only for him. They never stared at him in horror, never glanced away in disgust…she took his face in with an open heart and embraced it, as he had learned to do so. For that, he fell deeper and deeper into her innocent spell. "Shall we finish the story today?"

Odette nodded, rising with him as she took her mug along. "May I read the last chapter tonight?"

"If you wish it," he answered, offering his arm to her. He guided her into the parlor once she linked her arm with his, taking his seat on the ottoman stool as she sat in her comfortable, velvet-lined chair, opening the book to the last section they had stopped at the night before. She read slowly, her skills in reading and identifying new vocabulary improving significantly since she first arrived. Her voice had a soft, rhythmic flow, like honey that slipped over the edge of a glass and slid leisurely down the side, elegant and beautiful altogether. It wasn't until she felt Erik rest his head upon her lap that she paused from her reading, setting the book down as she saw his eyes were closed.

"Oh Erik," she murmured, placing one hand upon his deformed cheek while the other stroked his hair.

"Mmh?" he mumbled, his eyes blinking open. "Sorry…I didn't realize-"

"We should go to bed," she suggested. "You're exhausted from preparations for _Don Giovanni_. Get some sleep, _mon Ange_."

"I'd much rather sleep like this," he confessed, closing his eyes once more. He groaned in relief as she massaged his neck with her small, strong fingers, relishing the pressure as it made the stiffness in his body lax.

"You could come to my room," she suggested. "I wouldn't mind it if you fell asleep there…it's starting to get cold."

He raised his eyes to see her smiling at him, not a hint of seductiveness showing though. She was still so young and pure…he loved that about her, and thanked God he was not impulsive when it came to such matters, though there were some days that she was absolutely irresistible to him…

"If you don't mind…?" he started, stopping once she nodded. Rising to his feet, he stretched and yawned, running his hand through his hair. "You spoil me, _mon Belle_."

"How?"

"With your affections," he answered, taking her in his arms as she embraced him. "And I'm afraid I'm becoming too presumptuous."

"I like it when you're presumptuous," she said mischievously, earning a grin from him.

"Then you'll forgive me if I become too presumptuous now," he said, leaning down to her face and claiming her perfect little mouth. She answered readily, wrapping her arms around his neck so that he could lift her off the ground, eventually carrying her off to her room, as though she were his bride. _"Soon…soon I will ask you,_ mon petite_…and I hope you say 'yes'."_

**~OG~**

In the early light of the dawn, the last suitcase was taken from the car before the two figures entered the house, shutting the door after them.

"Your room shall be here on the first floor, Eloise," Destin informed her, grimacing as she fought back a sob.

"It's only been a week and already you move me from my mistress's home into this filthy city!" she spat, still hurting from Amelie's passing. The woman had taken her in once her daughter had run away, thus becoming a sort of replacement. Having buried her mistress and being forced to move away with the grandson in such a short amount of time bothered her greatly, and she sensed that Destin's urgency would only bring him deeper into trouble.

"I live here now…and I had to be back by tonight," he frowned, moving towards the flight of stairs to arrive at his room. "Odette is performing today and I have a promise to keep to Grandmaman."

"Don't go rushing into things, Destin. You must think with a clear head-" she warned him.

"How can I?!" he bellowed, spinning around and glaring at the woman. "How can I be calm when that creature has stolen my girl and is related to me?! That _thing_ is a monster parading around town like some gentleman! Either Odette is blind to see it or is actually aware of the fact and continues to remain with him in some sick, morbid fascination…either way, she will be mine tonight! _Silence_!" he demanded, frightening the older woman as she tried to speak up. "I don't want to hear another peep out of you. I have things to do…don't bother me again." He stormed off, his mind already set with a plan.

Eloise shook her head. "His temper is atrocious…must have gotten it from his grandfather." As she began to walk to her room, there was a pounding at the front door, demanding and determined. Raising an eyebrow at the early morning intrusion, she walked back to the entrance and opened the door, stunned to find a woman in tattered clothes while her belly exposed her as a pregnant mother. In her hand she held a crumpled shirt of fine quality. "Madame?"

"Is that lout home?" the redheaded woman asked saucily, her face set in a scowl.

"If you're talking about Monsieur Monette-"

"That's him, Destin. Destin! Do you hear me?!" she shouted past the elder, glaring into the house.

He ran out at once, stunned to find the woman at his door. "Valerie?! What do you want?!"

"I want you out of my life!" she snapped, throwing the shirt to the floor and spitting on it. "You left this at my place. If you can't own up to your mistakes then don't see me at all!"

"What's the matter with you?! You're a damn prostitute! Since when do you care about cleaning up your act?!" he demanded, rushing down the stairs to face her.

"Since I found out I have a kid! I don't want to bring my child into the world I've been stuck in!" she insisted, standing straight as he neared his face to hers.

"Fine, consider your wish granted," he sneered, brushing past her carelessly as he headed for the salon. He was dying for a drink to clear his head.

"_Fine_!" she screamed, earning the attention of just about everyone in the neighborhood.

"_Idiot! What's he doing now? He's not supposed to be like Francois…Mistress Amelie, what am I to do…?"_ Eloise's eyes caught sight of the bulging belly Valerie now had, a revelation flashing in her mind. "Madame…Valerie, is it?"

"What?!" the woman snapped, exhaustion and anger evident in her voice. "What do you want? Everyone wants something of me – Destin wanted my body, the landlady wants more money, now this baby will want food that I can't buy-!"

"I want you to stay," Eloise said calmly, motioning for her to enter the fine house. "I'll make you a bit of tea."

Valerie blinked, flabbergasted by the kind offer. Suspicion rose within her as she crossed her arms over her chest. "At what price?"

"Forget about that idiot," Eloise ordered, jerking her thumb at the shrinking figure of Destin Monette as he stomped away. Something inside of her told her that he would not be coming back…not with the way he was going. His impulses would only bring him to ruin…she would not let her mistress be disappointed. If her idiot grandson couldn't do the job right…perhaps his great-grandson…or a future generation to come. "All I ask is that you let me be considered a sort of aunt or grandmother to the child when he or she is born," she pleaded softly, reaching out to touch the woman's belly. "I always hoped I'd have my own child…I worked for Destin's grandmother for years but he was never what I had hoped he would become…please, come in."

Warily, Valerie entered the house, accepting Eloise's hand as she teetered towards one of the many doors. "Who are you?"

"Eloise…you may call me Eloise."

**~OG~**

Night had yet to fall but the _Garnier_ was already teeming with patrons and onlookers, eager to see what this evening would hold for them. Actors, dancers, and sceneshifters scurried all throughout the backstage passages, hurriedly working to have everything prepared before the curtains went up in just a few moments. Erik weaved his way in between the workers and performers alike, inspecting everything before going to Odette's dressing room and knocking on the door.

"Come in," she answered.

He stepped inside, withdrawing a single red rose from his jacket, giving a flourished bow before he handed the flower over. "_Mademoiselle_," he winked, earning a smile from the young woman.

"Oh, Erik!" she beamed, accepting the flower as she leaned forth to kiss his cheek. "You're an angel!"

"So I've been told," he winked. He admired her in her costume, an Eighteenth-Century styled gown of pink silk and pearls, dipping enough at her chest to tease with a hint of cleavage. "You look beautiful."

"_Merci, mon Ange_," she blushed. Her fingers curled around the stem of the flower as she pressed it to her chest. "I'm nervous."

"All great performers usually are before they go out," he reassured her, taking her hand and kissing it. "I have every faith in you…I shall be in Box Five, watching. Don't be afraid…the crowds don't exist. Just sing for me."

Odette nodded, embracing him tightly.

"I must go…I'll be back to celebrate afterwards, I promise." Kissing her lips, he winked and took off, making his way back to his private box. As he reached the door, he passed by the concierge, Madame Jammes Cecile.

"_Monsieur_! That is the Ghost's private box-!" she protested.

"I have an appointment with the Ghost, I assure you," he said with a polite bow. "He's been expecting me."

"Oh! Please, _monsieur_, forgive me," she begged, curtsying before him.

"Don't you worry your pretty head over it," he smiled kindly. "Do excuse me."

"Of course!" She ran off at once, nearly tripping over her own skirts. He chuckled as he watched her, shaking his head as he entered Box Five and took his seat. He felt his blood racing through his veins as he stared at the stage anxiously, hearing the orchestra warm up. This was it…Odette's big debut as the star…he could scarcely believe the day was here at last! After all the madness, all the dramatics and issues they had been through, she was going to sing…and she would be triumphant.

As the curtains parted, a hush fell over the auditorium, everyone's eyes glued to the stage. Erik could scarcely contain himself as he watched the characters come to life, reenacting the opera perfectly…and then, she came on, becoming frantic as she saw that her 'father' lay 'dead' before her. As she opened her arms in despair, singing of her sorrows, her eyes went to Box Five, locking with his at once. He reached out to her, unaware of his actions as he did so…

Blasts of smoke assaulted the stage, screams from the performers and audience filling the air as a manic cackle filled the air. A figure in a billowing cape swung down precariously from the catwalks, wearing a dark mask as he snatched Odette into his arms and stomped at one of the main trapdoors, sending the two of them falling through into the darkness below.

"_Odette_!" Erik cried out, running out of Box Five as quickly as he could.

"The Opera Ghost!" the ballerinas screeched, the whole show going up in smoke, figuratively and literally.

Erik ground his teeth together, furious that this imposter stole his darling and tainted his name. Patting his waistcoat pocket, he drew out his silky Punjab lasso and headed for Odette's dressing room when he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" Eddie demanded, following his stride easily.

"'_We'_ are not going anywhere," Erik answered sternly, entering the room at once. "It's too dangerous – I already know who's behind all this."

"Monette, obviously," Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest in aggravation. "Erik, you can't go alone-"

"There are traps set throughout the passages and tunnels. I can't risk you getting hurt-"

"I won't be, so long as we stick together!"

"Ed-"

"If it were Maddie, you'd be pestering me, too." Gripping his shoulders, Eddie looked Erik in the eyes, determination shining through. "Let me help you, Erik, the way you helped me so many years ago…we can get her back, together."

Gratitude swelled in his chest as he gave his friend's hands a light squeeze. "…very well. But you must trust any instructions I give you. Your life may depend on it."

Eddie nodded, waiting until Erik opened the mirror and motioned for him to follow. Once they stepped inside, Eddie felt for the revolver in his coat pocket and followed Erik through the darkness. They spoke nothing, trekking through the damp bleakness underground with their eyes and ears catching every motion and sound that was made around them. Erik dared not to use the electric lights or even torches, worried that the light might give them away. He wasn't sure how far Monette had made it into the cellars until he arrived at a passage that would lead to the stables. One of Odette's shoes lay forgotten on the ground, soaked in a puddle.

"He didn't go to the stables," Erik noted, kneeling down to grab the shoe.

"He's gone deeper into the cellars then?" Eddie suggested, catching sight of a faint trail that led in the opposite direction. "He can't possibly know where he's going."

"He doesn't…he's lost here," Erik frowned. "He can't know of any of these passages…he's never been here."

"Then it'll be easy to find him," the American nodded, motioning for Erik to lead once more.

Erik needed no further urging as he pressed on, a sense of irony washing over him as he recalled Leroux's story of his father. _"Funny how the 'monster's' son is now the hero."_ Arriving at the third cellar, Erik came to a halt, motioning for Eddie to be still. There was a sound of struggling, a male and female's voices intertwined in a cacophony of anger and protest.

"You're mine, Odette, and mine alone!"

"You're insane!" she spat. Erik peeped around the side of the wall and caught sight of his beloved biting into Monette's hand, spitting as shook his hand fiercely and smacked her face. He tossed the mask to the ground, his eyes flaming as he reached for her throat.

"You'll be mine! Dead or alive-!"

Motioning for Eddie to stay hidden, Erik whipped his lasso out, aiming for Monette's head, but the man heard its soft whistle. He ducked just barely, falling onto his back as he avoided the lethal noose. His nostrils flared at the sight of Erik approaching them, his hand stretching out to grab Odette.

"Don't," Erik hissed, his eyes shining in the darkness. "Unless you want me to noose you for good this time."

"That's all right," Destin Monette snickered, pulling out his own thin rope. "I've got my own. Why don't we fight for her, eh? Just like in the good old days…that's what Grandfather would have done, I imagine."

"I would argue that you aren't making any sense, but that would be redundant, smelling the thick scent of alcohol on your breath," Erik snapped back. He glanced briefly at Odette, satisfied for the moment that she was a safe distance from Monette for the time being. She remained perfectly still on the floor, her alert green eyes watching the enemy.

"Drinking has nothing to do with it!" Destin sneered, slipping his hand into his coat, withdrawing an old, leather-bound notebook and tossing it at Erik. It slid towards his feet, skidding to a halt as it hit Erik's foot. "Read it and weep…and trust me, you will." His brows furrowed as he glared at Erik, feeling nothing but contempt in his bones for the man. "I know what you are, Chevalier….you're that _thing_ that saved Odette months ago….that corpse. 'The Phantom of the Opera'…did you like my little display back on stage? I had help – I found that story that idiot Leroux wrote for the newspapers. A bunch of horse dung if you ask me, but in the end, it's all true…I know it because my Grandmaman was the one to start your bloody story."

"What does your grandmother have anything to do with my family?" Erik asked darkly, sneakily sliding forth one step. He was grateful that all the chaos had remained upstairs…he couldn't afford to have anyone else in the third cellar – that would only bring problems.

"My grandmother was the one who gave your cursed father his deformity…the one you now possess."

Erik stared at him, giving him such a look that Monette almost started doubting what he'd said. "…of course. And I'm the Shah of Persia."

"When your father was born, he had yellow parchment for skin," Destin recited. "He had no nose, and his eyes were deep socket in his skull."

"Reciting Leroux's works won't convince me."

"His parents' names were Francois and Brier. He lived in Rouen until he was about nine or ten and ran away…and his wife's name was Angelique Archambault."

Erik stiffened. There was no way he could have known about his grandparents' names. The only reason he found out was because of his mother – she had barely been able to acquire that information. Erik Chevalier the First barely knew anything about his family as they wanted nothing to do with him.

"Did you know that our grandfather was a Comte?"

"That can't be…my father wasn't a Comte until he was able to purchase the title and marry my mother…I had no grandfather. My father said the house he used to live in was burnt down ages ago-"

"By my grandmother," Destin grinned wickedly. "Our grandfather was a monster, too, just not by his face…he had your grandmother to create ugly little Erik and my grandmother to create my beautiful mother…so you see, were are _cousins_."

The news struck Erik as though an invisible hammer collided with his chest. "You're bluffing-!"

"We have the same dark hair…even our eyes are similar…of course, you have a color that resembles a demon from Hell – no one's eyes glow like that in the dark! Your father was supposed to die when he ran away…my grandmother was careless and tired – she wanted a new life, so she left it behind. She had hoped Erik would perish, and instead she found out just before she perished that all this time, he returned to France and thrived…that he continued the bloodline!" He spat on the ground, disgusted at Erik. "How anyone could have seen past such a face, much less love it, is beyond me."

"Because you're the _real_ monster!"

A gunshot rang out, sending everyone up a foot in the air. Surrounding the standoff scene, Eddie, Albert, and Gerard pointed their weapons at Destin Monette, casting Erik reassuring glances as he scrambled to get Odette away from the mad opponent. Monette took several steps backwards, panic and stress showing through his eyes. His muddled mind couldn't handle the severity of having to deal with more than one opponent to get what he wanted.

"Coward!" he hissed, pointing accusingly at Erik. "I'll get you somehow…and if I don't, my descendants will! I won't rest until one of us is dead!"

"That can be arranged," Gerard growled. "Keep away from my family, or I shall report you to the police!"

"Go ahead. I'll just explain that the whole 'Phantom' story is true," Destin tested them. "You'll be charged with your father's crimes!"

"And we have evidence that your grandmother was a madwoman who killed and caused Erik's family to suffer with the deformity," Albert glared. "It doesn't matter how you play it, Monette. You lose."

Destin felt his body shaking as he looked from face to face, finally landing on Erik. "You…you're wearing some fancy prosthetic mask, I know it! They'll rip it off and take you away-!"

"I'll let them," Erik answered, his voice unnaturally calm. "I'll escape, and I will thrive…just as my father did."

"We won't let anyone take Erik away!" Eddie snapped. "Not you, not the police, not anyone! So I suggest you hand yourself over quietly and forget this ever happened-"

"Never!" Monette swung the rope out, snagging both Erik and Odette. Jerking them towards him, he cried out as the three men shot at him, feeling the bullets penetrate his limbs. "Go ahead. Shoot, but I'm bring them with m-! _NO_!"

Monette's cry of terror made the entire group gawk at him. He stared, mortified, past Erik and Odette, pointing accusingly at an unseen figure as soft, beautiful violin music inexplicably in the air. "No…you can't be here! You're dead! NO!"

The men all took a chance, their eyes moving from Monette to a figure that had mysteriously appeared, a soft aura of light surrounding him as he stepped towards them, playing his violin. Odette peered over Erik's shoulder, gasping as she caught sight of a white mask hidden under the wide-brimmed felt hat the stranger wore, never stopping as he played his violin for them. "Is that…?"

Erik felt his heart stop as he recognized the faded figure that approached them. "Father."


	20. The Opera Ghost Lives

**Chapter Twenty – The Opera Ghost Lives**

"NO! It can't be!" Destin gasped, his grip on the rope tightening as he fought to stay upright. "Y-You're dead! This is one your illusions, Chevalier, isn't it?!"

Torn between his wish to see his father's spirit and keeping an eye on his enemy, Erik worked quickly, shoving Odette down so that the noose rolled up. Keeping his hand ready, he blocked the rope from strangling his own neck, reaching up with his free hand to free himself. He winced as Monette gave a sharp tug, causing him to stumble forward.

"He'll be joining you!" Destin warned the apparition as he continued to walk towards them. "Stay where you are!"

"_Mon Dieu_!" Gerard gasped, crossing himself before grabbing on to Eddie for support.

Forgotten, Odette crawled away from them, catching sight of broken, abandoned props that had yet to be fixed. There were an assortment of scene pieces and hand props that lay around the cellar, the sight of a shield catching her attention. As she took hold of it, she screamed as another gunshot ripped through the air. Whipping her head around, she caught sight of Monette, shooting furiously as the mystical figure.

"Back off!" he demanded, wobbly from his wounds and stress, the alcohol slowing his body and reactions significantly. "Stay away!"

The figure stopped playing his violin, holding it to his side as he raised the brim of his hat to the opponent, revealing the masked face to him. Casually, he took the mask off, revealing a handsome face of a man in his early fifties, looking very similar to Gerard. For a moment, no one moved, stunned by the motion. Then, in the blink of an eye, the handsome face vanished, and they found themselves staring at a Death's head. He smiled, the gestures sickening and gruesome. Monette gave a horrified cry, his hold on the rope slackening.

Erik caught a look from the spirit, words flashing through his mind. _"Now, my son!"_ Instantly, he knew what he had to do. Working faster than a cobra, he wriggled the lasso off of him body, freeing his neck before tossing the weapon back with deadly accuracy, the rope landing around its owner's neck. Giving the rope his own tug, he watched through narrowed eyes as Monette choked on the noose. "Leave us alone."

"Never…monster!" Monette hacked, clawing at the rope.

"_You're_ the monster!"

Odette gave an angry shout as she tossed the shield at Monette, sending him flying back and crashing into an old, worn stage piece from the play _Roi de Lahore_. The old prop seemed to shatter as he crashed through with such force, revealing a forgotten, hidden opening that swallowed him whole. Erik took a step towards it when he felt a light, airy hand on his back. Slowly, he glanced around, his eyes meet with his father's. Erik Chevalier the First shook his head sternly, motioning for him to wait. Puzzled, the son looked down at the opening, a sudden sense of dark foreboding filling him. A passage from his father's story floated in his head, one that involved the nosy, precarious stagehand Joseph Buquet…he had been found hanging in the third cellar of this very Opera House.

"_Mon Dieu_," Erik whispered, realizing what this meant.

"What is it?" Albert whispered, wincing as a horrible, choking sound drifted out from the hidden opening screams of terror following soon after.

"Erik-?" Gerard started.

"I'll be back, I promise…Eddie, stay with Odette, please."

"Erik-!" Odette protested, silenced by a frantic kiss from her beloved.

"Thank you for helping me," he whispered, kissing her forehead before walking over to the opening and slipping inside. He landed with a grunt, squinting in the darkness, his eyes adjusting quickly. This tunnel hadn't been used in ages, not even by himself. He followed the sound of Monette's terrified cries, hearing angry, petrified shouts and pleas to be left alone. He traveled deeper and deeper into the tunnel, running silently along the darkness until he noticed a trapdoor several feet head left open. His brows furrowed as he recalled the affair with the Persian and _Vicomte de Chagny_ in their efforts to find Christine Daae, how they leapt down from a passage and into what could have been their deadly demise.

"It's not possible…it's been dismantled for years!" Using his catgut lasso, he made certain that he had a way out before sliding into the forbidden room. Just as he had suspected, the walls were framed. The mirrors had been destroyed long ago, as a promise to Angelique Archambault by a certain Opera Ghost, but the structure remained intact…at the center of the room, a single wooden beam stood…a body hanging from it, still jerking as the last bits of life escaped the corpse. Erik sucked in a breath of shock, biting his tongue as he forced himself to look upon Destin Monette's face, looking just as terrifying as Erik's natural countenance, perhaps more so. He couldn't fathom just why he would kill himself – after all, the mirrors were gone, the gibbet removed, and there were no special mechanics linked to the room that would recreate an African jungle scene. Perhaps he couldn't handle his own demons…

Disgusted, he stared at the corpse, an idea formulating in his mind. He couldn't just bring the body with him – it would delay him on his way back, and if the police caught him…no, he would leave it there for the moment. He knew what to do with it, but it would have to wait.

Eagerly, he removed himself from the scene, hurrying back to the third cellar the way he came, welcomed back into the arms of his friends, brothers, beloved, and father. They all remained silent as the original Opera Ghost came forth and touched both his sons on their shoulders. Erik the First then turned his ghastly ghost face to Odette. She did not flinch or scream at him…rather, she stared, and after a time, when he smiled to her, she smiled back. "_Merci_," she whispered, raising a hand to touch his face. He accepted her caress, beaming as he took her hand and placed it in his son's, beckoning the two of them to embrace.

"_Au revoir_," he spoke, his voice musical and enchanting as he turned away from them, his cape flapping behind him and transforming into a pair of wings before he vanished in a burst of light.

The group shielded their eyes, stunned by the display. Instantly, they felt to their knees, all in awe of the spectacle and miracle that had been sent down.  
"Thank you…thank you both, my Fathers," Erik whispered, thinking of both the Almighty and the man who once terrorized this establishment. Inhaling deeply, he looked to Odette, who watched him with relief. "_Mon Belle_…I thought I was going to lose you," he confessed, taking Odette in his arms and kissing her fervently. She melted in his embrace, kissing him back with as much urgency and desperation.

"Erik…oh, Erik!" she wept, hiding her face into his chest.

"What happened?" Albert asked, fighting the shock that fell over him like a thick blanket.

"Monette got into Father's old torture chamber…it's been dismantled for years, but it must have had some effect over him. He hung himself."

"Oh!" Odette choked, accepting Erik's embrace.

"What about the body?" Eddie asked.

"I'll deal with it later…right now, we need to cover up that mess," Erik said, motioning towards the broken stage piece.

"All right, let's think…didn't that entrance have a secret door? Can't we use it?" Gerard asked, hurrying over and checking the stones and wood that had opened for Monette. His brows furrowed as he touched the seams in the wall, finding a torn thread. Sure enough, Monette's weight must have allowed him to step upon the thread, breaking it and opening the passage beneath. "I believe there's a switch here…ah-ha!" Pressing a stone that looked no different from the rest, Gerard watched as a new set of rocks and wood slid out and covered the opening, concealing it from prying eyes. "There."

"Well done, Gerard," Erik nodded, waiting until he came back and knelt down with them once more. "Thank you all…I don't think we would have survived this without you…"

"Down here!"

Eddie's head jerked up as he heard the men shout and stomp down to the third cellar. Thinking fast, he snatched Monette's diary and stuffed it quickly into his jacket. He wasn't sure if what Destin Monette had blurted out what true, but he wouldn't take any chances…not when Erik was involved. As if they had been waiting for the right moment, a swarm of policemen and stagehands burst onto the scene, stunned to find the group of men and the young performer kneeling on the floor, shaken and in awe. "_Monsieurs_, are you harmed? What happened?!" the police chief demanded, chomping at the bit to get to business.

"Gentlemen," Gerard coughed, clearing his throat as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I'm afraid the culprit has evaded us," he said calmly, waving towards the opposite side of the cellar. "I'll explain what I can, but if you wouldn't mind, I need a seat."

"Of course. Men, split up! See if you can find our 'ghost' and any other evidence you can find!" Turning to the stagehands, he ordered them to help the victims up and bring them to the managers' offices, where they would be helped into seats and asked several questions.

"But the performance-" Odette protested, clinging to Erik as he helped her to her feet.

"The performance has been canceled and will be rescheduled at a later date," Gerard informed them as they were guided up the steps to the backstage hallways of the _Palais Garnier_. "After all this madness, I'm sure the audience can wait a few days-"

"But I have to sing…most of all, to thank _him_," Odette insisted, her eyes locking with Erik's.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, Erik whispered in her ear, "I know Father will understand the delay…it's been a bit traumatizing, all this…but I know he's pleased with you for thinking of him…thank you, _mon Belle_."

**~OG~**

It wasn't until several hours later that both Erik and Odette found themselves sitting before the fire, sipping chamomile tea to soothe their jilted nerves and settle their minds. Odette found herself opening the locket that had once belonged to Angelique Archambault, gazing lovingly at the portraits. "…Erik?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, sinking into his chair as he sipped his tea.

"You had mentioned there was a torture chamber down in your other house…I've never seen it, though."

"And I pray you never shall," he answered grimly. "My father was brilliant, but he came up with some dangerous creations. If it weren't for my mother, that torture chamber might have caught several other poor idiots."

"Then that hidden passage-"

"The entrance was hidden in the third cellar, behind that piece from _Roi de Lahore_…it led straight into the chamber. The victim would fall into it, and it would turn on automatically. It was designed to drive men made, to make them think they were in an African jungle and be driven to suicide if the heat didn't kill them first…I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you this after everything that's happened," he sighed wearily. He felt her hand on his and found her sitting at his feet, resting her head upon his knee. She was just as tired as he was, but she listened to him earnestly. He rested his hand upon her head, loving the feel of her silky locks between his fingers. His thought flashed back to the little diary that he saved with Leroux's accounts, the malevolent words of Amelie Monette pounding against his brain, Destin's words cutting through him like a knife.

"What if…what if it really is the truth? I'm certain it is now, but…_Mon Dieu_, I don't want to become like him-!"

"Erik, you're _not_ Destin…you are your father's son, and you are the most wonderful man the world can offer," she said firmly, her voice drawing him in like a siren's song.

"He says he has descendants…that's not possible, is it…? Oh." His eyes widened as he remembered the prostitute. "If he has a son, or even a daughter-"

"There's no way that woman could know the truth, Erik…and it doesn't matter." Rising to her feet, she bent down and took his unmasked face in her hands. "I will be with you every step of the way…I will fight with you should anything come…I love you, Erik."

His eyes filled with tears of relief and joy as he took her in his arms and kissed her mouth once more, pulling her onto his lap. "I love you, Odette, with all my heart." Cautiously, he deepened the kiss, pleasantly surprised when she parted her lips to him, pulling him in closer to her. Their warm became an aura around them, their blood humming as it flowed excitedly through them. Kissing her forehead, Erik clutched her to his chest as she rested her head upon his shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear before humming a lullaby. Feeling her body pressed to his, he swore to himself that he would never let anything or anyone get between him and his love. The future was wide open, with endless possibilities…and it was his for the taking.

**~OG~**

Eloise placed the tea tray before Valerie, her ridges forming on her forehead as she recalled the disastrous past week that had taken Paris by storm. It was not so much the fact that Destin had perished which bothered her…rather, it was the humiliating manner in which he was painted by the media. He had disgraced the Monette name in his hot-headedness, and he paid the price with his life.

Just a week ago, a crazed "Phantom" figure appeared on the stage and ruined a debut performance, kidnapping the female lead during the show. This figure was found the following evening by a stagehand in the third cellar of the _Palais Garnier_, hanging by the neck, wearing the same mask he used to kidnap Odette Delacroix, and having been deceased for at least twenty-four hours. The man was identified as Destin Monette, a successful lawyer who for several months had been failing to appear in court to perform his duties. Upon further investigations, it was found that he dabbled in gambling, forgery, arranging purchases of low-class folk or their services, and blackmail. The coroner stated that it was a suicide, resulting from a variety of causes. He was known to drink and had an assortment of snuff boxes kept secret from anyone he knew personally. It was suggested that these elements, combined with possible madness or guilt from his actions, drove him to take his own life.

"The bastard," Valerie spat, shaking her head as she accepted the tea from Eloise. They had recently come from his funeral that day, having gone over the paperwork that would allow Valerie, as the mother of Destin's child, to hold on to a percentage of Monette's possessions and money, the rest being returned to pay off debts and the government for the trouble he caused. "Madame, what am I to do-?"

"Go on living…stay here with the child," Eloise encouraged her. "We have nowhere else to go, no one to turn to. We are all we have now."

Valerie looked up at the woman, still wondering how she was able to open her arms to a stranger – a woman of ill-reputable history at that – and accepted her as though she were her own. She was unaccustomed to being accepted, to being loved and cared about…really, what choice did she have? For that matter, she would be mad not to agree. Nodding her head, she took the woman's hand in her own and thanked her quietly, never noticing the gleam in her eye as Eloise looked towards the ever-growing belly.

"_I shall teach you the story of what really happened…what monsters the Chevaliers are, and how the Phantom killed your father, little one…I shall not fail my mistress, as her foolish grandson did…"_

**~OG~**

"Nice to see you finally taking my advice," Eddie grinned as Erik paid for the shining little trinket and slipped it into his coat pocket. "I thought you wanted to take this slow?"

"I do…but after what happened, I…I don't want to lose her," Erik shook his head, pulling his collar up as he and his friend stepped out into the biting October wind. "I've mentioned factors that might prove to be a way to change her mind, but she is adamant – she wants to be with me, and I can't say I don't want the same…I love her dearly, and I want her to be mine forever."

They walked down the street, passing the shoppes and vendors as soft snow drifted from the sky and lightly coated the ground. A group of children ran past them, laughing as they stuck out their tongues to collect snowflakes. The sky was gray and thick, creating a dreary, colorless atmosphere that urged voyagers to enter their homes and gather around the fire to sip soup and share stories. Erik knew that this evening would prove to be the perfect opportunity to ask Odette – he could envision it in his mind…the two of them sitting in front of the fire, reading a chapter from their book and sipping tea when he could claim he had dropped something…from there, he would kneel before her and hold his breath after asking the question, waiting for her to answer…

"Oh!"

His breath was knocked out of him for a moment when, in his daydream, he had taken a step to the side, bumping into an oncoming figure. "A thousand apologies, Madame!" he exclaimed at once, helping her pick up her fallen parcels. "I should have been more-"

"Erik?"

His brows furrowed at the sound of her voice. Lifting his head, he found himself staring into a familiar set of sky blue eyes, blinking at him in delighted surprise. He stared back, startled by the encounter. "Baroness-"

"Please, Erik, I do wish you'd call me Christia again," she sighed, accepting the bag she had dropped. "You have become so formal since you returned from the war."

"_Pardon_," he said politely, bowing his head to her. "It is merely a habit."

"Oh, this is your American friend, isn't he? Monsieur Stubenbaucker?"

"The one and only," Eddie smiled kindly, kissing her hand. "Nice to see you again, Baroness."

"Call me Christia, please," she insisted. Returning her attention to Erik, she bit her lip and stammered, "I…I saw the performance this past week…your ward is…well, she's extraordinary, Erik. You taught her well."

"Thank you," he said, tipping his fedora to his. "You're too kind."

"I remember when I used to sing for the _Garnier_…you also taught me…you're a wonderful teacher, Erik," she complimented him, her cheeks becoming bright pink.

Erik stared at the woman, perplexed by her sudden shyness. She never used to act this way around him when they were growing up…suddenly, she was acting like an uncertain schoolgirl before a headmaster. It was unsettling, and he wanted to get home to Odette as quickly as possible.

"Thank you. It was lovely seeing you again, but I'm afraid I'm in a hurry in to get home," he said as kindly as he could, stunned to see disappointment shining in her eyes.

"Yes, how silly of me…I didn't mean to stop you. It was lovely seeing the both of you once more…perhaps we can see each other again, soon?"

"Perhaps," Erik answered, tipping his hat once more. "Good day."

"Good day, Miss Christia," Eddie said, following Erik down the sidewalk once more. He waited until they were a decent distance away before raising an eyebrow at Erik. "Isn't that the same woman we saw months ago at the café, the one with the little girl that you mentioned from your past?"

"The _Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac_, yes," Erik nodded calmly. "Is something the matter?"

"The way she was looking at you, maybe," Eddie commented with a smirk. "Isn't she married?"

"Of course."

"Well, she was looking at you like a lovesick schoolgirl. How do you feel about that?"

"_Should_ I feel anything?" Erik shrugged. He patted his pocket once more, feeling the ring intact in its place. "She made up her mind a long time ago, and now my heart is taken also. There is no room for wishing or wondering about 'what if's'…this is now, and I love Odette. Don't you see? Odette is the very reason why I survived the war!"

"You know, I like to think that, too," Eddie winked, patting Erik's back. "This is where we part ways, brother-in-law. I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck."

"_Merci_, Ed. Say 'hello' to the wife and child," he winked, waving to his friend as he split off to take at the corner in order to find his house. His heart pounded madly as he forced himself to slowly walk to the door and enter his home, knowing that Odette would become suspicious if he started acting different. No sooner had he shut the door and walked towards the parlor, he could sense that something wasn't right. Odette was speaking into the telephone, tears streaming down her face as she mumbled back to whoever was on the other side.

"Yes…I'll try, Pauline…thank you for telling me…good-bye." Setting the phone back in place, she covered her face and fought back a sob.

"_Mon Belle_, what's wrong? What's happened?!" Erik asked running to her side at once.

She accepted his embraced, looking up at him with teary eyes. "It's Papa…he's had an attack, something about his heart…Pauline told me the doctor isn't sure how much longer he'll be around…Erik, I know he did terrible things, but he's my father-!"

"You must go to him," he said, regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

"What? But-"

"I can arrange for a cab to take you this evening. I cannot go with you, Odette – Gerry's been anxious about starting the next production, and Jeanne is here until late December…so why don't you go and spend time with him? You haven't been home in months, and I'm certain that I must be at least part of the reason why he's ill. You must go and stay with him, spend time together, just the two of you, making amends…please, Odette, it would make me feel so much better if you did. I know you would regret it if you didn't at least see him one last time."

She touched his face, covered with the skin-like mask, and carefully tugged it off, pulling him down so that she might kiss him passionately. He was taken off-guard by the gesture, standing still until he caved in and drew her close to him, his heart aching as he knew this kiss would be the last for a long while. He pulled away, knowing that if it lasted much longer, he would never let her leave.

"Pack your things, Odette…I'll take care of everything else," he reassured her, walking away.

"Erik!" she cried, reaching for him. "Erik, I swear I'll come back!"

"You were never my prisoner…you don't have to-"

"Erik, I love you! How could I leave and never come back?" she frowned, hurt by his words. "Erik…after everything we've been through, how can I not come back? Unless you don't feel the same-"

"Don't ever doubt what I feel for you," he said softly, though there was a hint of fierceness as he spoke. "If you choose to leave and never return…just like the Beast in that little fairy tale, I would die of a broken heart." He felt her hands on his arm, his face turning to see her at his side.

Odette's eyes glimmered with devotion and tenderness as she touched his face once more. "Then like Beauty, I _will_ come back for my dear Beast…my secret prince."

Taking her hand and kissing it, he felt a shard of despair strike at his heart. Motioning for her to go, he watched her hurry up the stairs, slipping his hand into his pocket and squeezing the ring box until he lost all feeling in his hand. _"Just wait it out…"_

**~OG~**

Gerard rushed from the office and down the majestic halls until he nearly collided with Madame Cecile. She gasped for breath as she was almost knocked over, accepting her employer's hand. "_Monsieur_, is there a fire-?"

"Have you spoken with the Phantom at all today?" he demanded to know, startling her.

"Well…yes. He asked that I give you this," she said, handing over a note with a red wax skull as its seal.

Gerard bit back a groan of exasperation as he opened the note before the woman.

"Monsieurs le Managers_,_

_I believe this season would benefit greatly should the performance be changed from _The Nutcracker _to _Giselle_. During the holiday season, many take for granted what is theirs…this ballet should prove to be both stimulating and symbolic for the audience and our performers._

_Your humble servant,_

_O.G."_

"_Mon Dieu_," Gerard grumbled, shaking his head. "He's starting up again."

"I should say so. After all the chaos that happened a fortnight ago with that imposter-!" the box keeper started.

"Yes, Madame Jammes, we know," snapped Gerard, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had a bad feeling about this-"

A screech filled the auditorium suddenly, making both man and woman jump out of their skins. Gerard wasted no time, sprinting to the stage through the passages until he found the problem. The backdrop for Act II in _The Nutcracker_ had collapsed to the ground while the backdrop for _Giselle's_ Act II, the graveyard scene, was displayed for all to see. A stagehand lay on the ground, pointing and sputtering nonsense, the only decipherable word being "Phantom." Gerard raised his eyes to the catwalks, barely catching the sight of a cloaked shadow turning on his heel and becoming one with the darkness. Growling, he forced himself to face the situation instead of barreling after his crazy little brother.

"Is anyone hurt?" he asked, helping the man up.

"No…no, _monsieur_…but he…!" the poor, spooked man choked, shaking as he looked up. "I've…I've never seen him so angry!"

"Did he throw you down?" Gerard asked, shocked.

"What? Oh, Heavens, no! But he reached for me, and it scared me so much that I nearly toppled over. He threw me a rope and I swung down and landed in a heap…but his eyes! _Mon Dieu_, I thought they were burning coals!"

"He's changed the blasted music sheets _again_!" Herriot fumed. "What next? Change the head dancer?!"

"Everyone, please! Calm down!" the manager called out, wishing he could wipe his brow. "Just take a moment and breathe…I'll find my brother and we'll sort this out." _"We'd better, or I'll make him a_ real _ghost!"_


	21. Restless Longings

**Chapter Twenty-One – Restless Longings**

He slipped the roses into their respective slots when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. "Go away, Gerry-"

"Don't. Even. _Try_," Gerard snapped, his brows knitting together in fury. "Are you trying to make a mockery of me? I thought this Opera Ghost nonsense had died with that fiasco we had a fortnight ago! Instead, you keep resurrecting the persona of 'the Phantom', and make me look like an idiot! Is that what you want? Do you want to get out of control so that you, Erik Chevalier, can miraculously tame the insane Phantom? Or is it that you want the police back and to find your secret passages? To learn the truth about Father-?!"

"_Shut up_!" Erik bellowed, grabbing his brother by the jacket lapels and holding him up off the ground several inches. "You know nothing of what I suffered since I was old enough to understand what was wrong with my face! You never have to worry about hiding! You and Suri, you always scold and patronize, but have you ever risked losing the one you love?! _Tell me_!"

Gerard stared at his brother in shock, startled to find him to upset. He hadn't shown his temper like this in years…he was usually more restricted. "…it's Odette, isn't it?" he asked softly. "…you're afraid you're going to lose her."

Realization washed over Erik as he slowly set his brother down once more, shame filling him and causing him to look away. "Gerard…I'm sorry…I don't know what came over me…"

"Odette's kept you tamed for so long that without her here, you lose your temper much easier," Gerard noted, straightening out his jacket. Stepping towards his brother, he placed his hand upon his shoulder, only to have Erik shrug it off. "Erik, I know you're worried, but you need to trust in her-"

"I do…I truly do…I trust that she'll follow her heart…which is why I don't want to impose myself on her," Erik answer softly, walking towards the lake and kneeling at its edge. "For three months, she's stayed here…my 'prisoner' of sorts…she came to replace her father. She was afraid, alone, and weak…she's a beautiful young woman now…there's been so much that's happened in that short amount of time. I don't want her to come back for my sake, though it kills me to be parted from her…I want her to come back to me of her own accord."

"I understand what you're saying, but surely if you miss her that much, you can call her-?"

"She doesn't have a phone in her house. She would have to visit the neighbor who's been caring for her father."

"Letters, then…?" Gerard sighed as Erik shook his head. "You don't want to influence her in any way, shape, or form…but you're absolutely miserable, and you're driving everyone batty! That little 'accident' you staged was reckless, Erik. What if Jean Paul had seen you-?"

"He only saw my eyes through my mask. The shadows concealed me," Erik reassured him, the torchlight reflecting off the lake giving Erik's mask an eerie glow.

Gerard knelt down beside Erik, gazing out towards the underground home. "…you aren't Father, Erik…no matter how hard you try to be."

"I believe you have that mixed, Gerry. I don't try to be like Father – I just am."

"You have so much more than what Father had, Erik. Why do you continue insisting on becoming him-?"

"He lives inside of me, Gerry."

"Stop calling me that."

"I'm serious, Gerry." Looking down at his distorted reflection in the water, Erik remembered a time, many years ago, when he and his father stopped at this very point, looking down at their reflections and sharing a comforting smile. He had been told it was all right to be different, to have such a face, so long as those you loved also loved you in return. "Father earned his family and friends after many years of struggle…but he had Mother to help him. I don't have that, Gerry-"

"Honestly, do stop. I'm not twelve anymore," the elder grunted. "Yes, you do. You have an extremely large family, Erik-"

"But I don't have a wife," Erik hissed, facing his brother at last. "I'm not like you, Gerry. If Odette decides to leave, who else will there be to accept my face? To accept my heritage…to accept _me_? All this time with her and I realized what I've been searching for – someone I can go home to who won't shrink back at me, someone who understands what I've gone through…I want someone to hold and kiss and take out on Sundays, Gerard!" He reached for his brother and gripped his shoulder, pointing to his masked face. "She accepted both Erik and Angel, the gentleman and the Phantom…who else could do such a thing? Christia abhorred it and married Gaspard…Jeanne was petrified and is getting married by Christmas…tell me, do you know of any other female who could learn to love me? _All_ of me?"

Gerard shook his head, sighing as he wrapped his arm around his brother and embraced him. "You're right, Erik…I understand what you're saying…but please, don't banish or punish yourself into this state. I'm begging you, if you don't hear from her by the first week of December, go to her. See what she's decided and ask if she'll come back…at least to spend Christmas together if she still loves you but wants to stay with her father for his health. Won't you do that?"

He remained still, mulling the proposition his elder brother had suggested. A month…at least a month or so of solitude for the both of them…surely it was enough time for Bernard Delacroix to heal and improve…a month to test their love…He nodded, agreeing at last with Gerard. "Very well…I'll wait until December."

"Good," Gerard smiled, his grey eyes twinkling. "…now, can I please have the _Nutcracker_ sheet music back?"

"No," Erik answered coolly, rising to his feet as he turned to face his parents' graves again.

"I thought we had worked your issues out!" Gerard whined, also rising in suit of his brother.

Erik smirked. "That doesn't mean I didn't mean it when I said Giselle would be a better choice…besides, if I have to suffer through a month of not seeing Odette, what better way to vent my agony than through a tormented, tragic ballet in which the main character perishes for her love?"

"You're as sick as Father, but then you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Hm-mh."

**~OG~**

"Papa?"

Bernard moaned as he forced his eyes to open, stunned by the sight of a beautiful young woman. "…am I dead?"

"Thank the Lord, no, you're not," Pauline smiled, patting Odette's back. "I thought you weren't going to make it…the doctor didn't either. But Odette came home and you've been improving greatly!" Gathering a basket full of mending, she excused herself to let the father and daughter have some privacy.

"Odette…?" His eyes lit up as he recognized his daughter, dressed in the finest clothes Paris had to offer, her hair growing back and framing her face in wild curls. She was no longer thin and gangly, rather her figure showed how well-endowed she was after being feed and cared for properly. "I didn't think…I would see you…" His smile faded as he remembered something terrible, his face paling. "Odette, you must run away and hide," he insisted frantically, gripping her hand tightly. "Destin Monette…he's-!"

"Dead," she informed him, her eyes darkening at the mention of the cruel, selfish man. "He died a fortnight ago, Papa…suicide."

"What?" A mixture of shock and relief washed over the old man as he sank deeper into the pillows, exhausted with all the sudden news. "But…how…?" His eyes widened as fear took hold. "That Phantom monster-!"

"He's _not_ a monster," Odette snapped, fury burning in her eyes. "The Phantom and Erik Chevalier are caring, intelligent, and wonderful men…the real monster was Destin…he tried to collect me back in Paris, you know. You and he had that deal you made to pay off all the debts."

Bernard's eyes widened in horror as he heard her speak. "…you…you know-?"

"I caught him at a bad moment, sharing that information with…someone," Odette winced, remembering that awful night. Her voice was cold as her eyes filled with tears. "How could you, Papa? You traded me off like…like I was some kind of property…livestock…it's humiliating!"

"I wasn't well-" he protested.

"When were you ever well, Papa?" she asked softly, looking him in the eye. "After my mother and brother died, you weren't a person anymore, and we've all paid the price for it…I came because you're family, and I won't abandon you…but as soon as you're well, I'm going home…to Erik."

"Erik?" he echoed, his brows furrowing. "You mean _Vicomte Chevalier_? You seem awfully intimate with him-"

"Don't," she warned him. "I mean it, Papa. You're lucky you're feeling ill, otherwise I wouldn't hesitate to berate you on everything you've made me suffer through all these years…Erik respects me, he treats me like I'm worth so much more…he nearly got killed because of me!" She gripped the locket that dangled over her collarbone, closing her eyes as she remembered her beloved's gruesome face. "I love Erik, and I'm going back to him…no matter what."

**~OG~**

_November, 1921_

Erik wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. It hadn't been barely a month and he was being driven mad. He missed her…he missed his dear Odette so much…He threw himself into his compositions, his muse being the memory of her smile and laughter. He created a small concerto and had it published in her honor, naming it "Ode to Odette". Gerard called him melodramatic and sappy, Madeleine claimed it was romantic. Erik didn't give a damn what anyone thought…he just wanted her back.

"This party will do you some good," Gerard insisted. "Our sisters are anxious about you."

"They shouldn't be," he answered tiredly. He had become absorbed in his music, poetry, managing, and haunting the Opera house once more, to Gerard's dismay. He claimed he had been going soft with the Opera Ghost and it was time to make sure people knew he still ran the place. "Besides, I'm not doing this for them, I'm going for Alain."

"Yes, I know," Gerard sighed, though a smile slowly worked its way onto his lips. "He's excited to have you here, you know. Teaching ventriloquism has given him a new confidence…unfortunately, that will get him into trouble at school."

"What? Does he make the chalk and pencils talk?" Erik grinned, glad to be distracted with amusing stories of his nephew.

"He makes it sound as if there are frogs in the classroom."

"So?"

"Monsieur Lyle is petrified of frogs."

Erik burst out into a fit of laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. "Oh…well, then, I suppose I'm not allowed to teach him how to make it sound as though the teacher himself is croaking?"

"I find his teacher utterly contemptible and would find it amusing, brother…but Suri, on the other hand, thinks it's disrespectful, so I comply with her wishes and scold Alain when necessary, but that doesn't stop him from trying again."

Erik snickered, fixing his tie before joining his brother as they walked downstairs to join the family in the parlor. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to settle for showing off here for his birthday."

The two gentlemen joined the enormous family at the Chevalier-Archambault estate, the parlor teeming with family members both young and old. Erik felt a flood of memories rush through his mind as he recalled all the events his parents had under this roof when he was a child. How he missed those carefree days, before he understood war and loneliness…only bliss and comfort…

"Erik!" Madeleine smiled, kissing his cheek. "I'm glad you came…this will be good for you, you'll see."

"I hope so," he smiled back half-heartedly. "I think I'll have a drink." Excusing himself, he wandered off through the mish-mosh of people, grabbing a glass of wine before seating himself towards the far end of the room, gazing out the window in contemplation.

"Poor Erik," Madeleine sighed.

"Infuriating. He won't even participate!" Gerard growled, feeling his sister's hand on his arm.

"Give him a moment, Gerard. He misses her…I'm sure Alain will attract his attention shortly," she reassured him.

Erik remained oblivious of their conversation, Odette's face disappearing and reappearing tauntingly in his mind. He wondered if she had received his gift…yes, despite himself, we wanted to show her he still thought of her, so in spite of himself, he sent out a package directly to his estranged darling. He only hoped he could wait out the next few weeks before he actually went out in search of her.

A gentle tug on his sleeve snapped his attention out of his thoughts. Looking down, he saw the familiar set of bright blue eyes and a warm, innocent smile. "Hello!" the child chirped, beaming at Erik. "You're the magician!"

Erik felt a smile grow onto his artificial lips despite his efforts to remain focused. He arose and bowed to her elegantly before kneeling down so that they may be eye to eye. "_Bonsoir, mon petite_…your name is Marguerite, correct?"

"_Oui_," she nodded. "Why are you by yourself?"

"I was thinking," he shrugged.

"You are sad."

"_Very perceptive."_ "Yes…I suppose I am."

"But it's a party!" Marguerite insisted. "Why would you be sad at a party?"

He placed his hand upon her head, patting her gently as a wistful smile remained on his face. "Because I love someone very much, and she is not here."

"Oh…" she nodded solemnly, as though she truly understood what he was going through. "I'm sorry. But please don't be sad."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "So long as you keep smiling, I won't be sad, child." He watched in awe as her face lit up, freezing when she threw her arms around him.

"I'm glad!" she informed him, snuggling into his embrace as he held her close. When at last they pulled away, she grinned at him, revealing a gaping hole in her lower teeth.

"What happened to your tooth?" he asked, humored by her proud smile.

"I tripped when I was playing on the rug – Maman warned me not to, but I did. That's when it came out!"

"Did you receive a present from the Tooth Fairy?"

"A franc!" she answered brightly.

Clasping his hands together, Erik feigned contemplation before he acted as though he were going to cough. "Oh…oh, dear. It seems I've lost some of my creativity," he said, acting absolutely stunned as he opened his hands and showed her a little wooden figure of a ballerina, carved and painted and linked onto a thread to form a delicate necklace. He grinned as he saw her face light up once more. He had been working hard this past week on little gifts for all his nieces and nephews, and this was by far the most time-consuming. "Would you like it, Mademoiselle Marguerite?"

"Oh, yes, please!" she pleaded, letting him place the cord around her head before the figure set itself upon her chest. "Oh…she's so pretty!"

"She's yours," he said, accepting another hug from the child.

"Oh thank you! Maman! Maman! Look at what Monsieur Erik gave me!" she cried, looking directly up next to Erik.

"I see it…that's lovely, darling!"

Erik turned his head, startled to see that Christia was standing beside him, her eyes glowing. He wondered how long she had been there with them but quickly shook it off. Of course she would be close by – this is her child and she needs to keep a close eye on her. "Baroness," he said politely, nodding his head to her as she knelt down beside them. "I didn't notice you were here already."

"I couldn't help but listen in," she blushed. She quickly turned away to look at her daughter, kissing her forehead. "Look at you! That necklace is perfect on you, darling!" As if to confirm her mother's words, Marguerite imitated the same pose her ballerina did, causing the two adults to laugh.

"Uncle Erik!"

The little group raised their heads to see Alain rush over to them, grinning impishly. "Uncle Erik, will you show me how to make the fireplace burp to I can scare the girls?!"

"Ah, I don't think that's the best idea, especially with your mother around," Erik grimaced, sending the boy a knowing look.

"Oh…well, can we do it later? So I can impress the other boys?" he insisted, never losing hope.

Erik sighed, shaking his head though he couldn't help laughing. "Very well. After supper, though."

"Deal!" Alain beamed, hurrying back the way he came.

Christia giggled as Erik chuckled. "You're wonderful with children, Erik."

"I suppose I do have a knack for getting along," he shrugged. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_," she insisted. She gazed into his entrancing gold eyes, remembering how so many years ago, he enthralled her with his voice and made her laugh at his antics…they were so young then, so innocent…and then she shattered it all with her greedy curiosity.

Erik quickly looked away, focusing his attention on Marguerite, who continued to prance around gleefully. "Where's Gaspard? I can't believe he's missing this out."

"He's…in England," she answered slowly, forcing a smile onto her face. "Handling affairs and estates."

Erik raised an eyebrow at her. "Even Mathis and Cyrille take the time to come home for family events…my brothers-in-law are determined to find a way to be home when it comes to the holidays and other family events. Surely Gaspard could hold off-"

"He's determined to finish whatever it is he's started…he's very stubborn," she shook her head. She lowered her voice before adding, "I'm worried Marguerite won't realize she has a father…he's away so often…"

"Maman, can Monsieur Erik come and visit us soon?" Marguerite asked suddenly, trotting over to the two adults.

"I don't think-" Erik started.

"Pretty please?!" the little girl pouted, puckering her lips in an irresistible manner.

Erik laughed, taking the child's hand and kissing it. "Very well. I shall call on you sometime this week." Glancing over to Christia, he asked, "What would be suitable for you?"

"Well…what about this Thursday? You could join us for supper," she suggested.

"Can you come early so we can play magician and princess?!" the child begged, hopping up and down.

Christia bit back a laugh as her daughter asked the humiliatingly impossible of her old friend. Her eyes widened as she heard Erik answer, "I would be most delighted to join you, Princess Marguerite." Her hand pressed to her heart, she held back a sigh of gratitude. Erik never ceased to amaze her, and Marguerite was enchanted by him… Taking her daughter into her arms, she watched as Erik excused himself and was soon assaulted by other children. _"He will make a great father one day…"_ Her heart leapt, giddiness taking hold. She was very excited to see him that Thursday.

**~OG~**

"You've got a package, dear," Pauline said, placing the box before the hearth. "From Paris…" She winked, knowing it was most likely the gentlemen who had been sending funds to them to care for Bernard.

Odette's face lit up, hope shining in her eyes as she hurried to the package and fell to her knees. Sure enough, the two addresses were scrawled out in red ink. Carefully, she tore the paper off, pulling the flaps away as she saw what the package held. A set of beautiful, thick blankets and shawls were folded inside, along with a short note. Opening it, she felt her heart ache as she remembered when she first entered the _Palais Garnier_ as asked but one thing of Erik Chevalier.

"_For the girl who asked for a single blanket…_

_stay warm with these and my best wishes to you all. _

_Yours Always,_

_O.G."_

"Heavens! Aren't they handsome?" Pauline beamed, caressing the fabrics within the box.

Odette pressed the note to her bosom, squeezing her eyes shut as felt the familiar pang of longing return. Why hadn't he called or sent letters? Was he afraid she would run back and leave her father just for his sake? Was he forgetting about her already? She shook her head, struggling to clear her mind. _"Just wait it out…wait until December…he'll get a Christmas surprise, I'll go back to him for the holidays-"_

The sound of harsh coughing and gasping for breath snapped her attention from her thoughts, making both women jump.

"Oh dear!" Pauline gasped. "He was just starting to get better! It must be the weather…bring the tonic in, won't you, Odette?"

"Of course," she nodded, rising from the floor in search of the medicine bottle. As worried as she was for her father, she couldn't help but think of her beloved, waiting for her return in Paris. _"Wait until December…just wait two more weeks…!"_

**~OG~**

"Monsieur Chevalier?"

Erik glanced up from the newspaper and found himself staring at Jeanne Favre's face, watching him cautiously from the doorway. "Come in," he motioned with a wave. Setting the newspaper aside, he clasped his hands and looked up at her. "What can I do for you?"

"It's Madame le Plume, _monsieur_…she sent me to ask if we'll be needing any of the main singers since the ballet mostly uses the chorus. She thinks I ought to…to go and get married early." She held her breath, waiting for a reaction. He merely blinked at her, as though he hadn't heard anything. "You see…Jonathan and I wanted to move the wedding to a closer date…I realize I've been away for quite some time already, but this is a ballet and I'm not a dancer. With all that's happened these past few months, I just…I'd like to be married as soon as possible, and if you'll still have me, I'd like to return and sing afterwards…at least, until we start a family."

Erik leaned back into his chair, pursing his artificial lips together before nodding his head. "I see no reason why you can't." Rising from his seat, he bowed to her politely. "I'm certain Gerard will agree with me as well. I wish you and Jon well with your future and I certainly hope you will make good on your promise and return."

"Oh, I will!" she promised, her face lighting up at once. She curtsied to him, appearing ready to bolt when she stopped and turned back to face him once more. "_Monsieur_? Might I ask you something?"

"Ask away," he said nonchalantly, walking in front of his desk and leaning comfortably against it.

Biting her lip and wringing her hands, she forced herself to draw out the question. "…have you ever…realized you had everything you could ever want, but still hoped for more, almost losing what you already held dear?" She scoffed at herself, shaking her head. "It's ridiculous, I know."

"I did once…when I was young, I didn't appreciate what I had, so I ran away and joined the war in hopes of something grander…but once I was there, I knew it was a mistake. I wanted to go back to the life I knew," Erik confessed, remembering that time all too well. Of course, he knew what she meant behind that innocent question.

"I…I had no idea," she stammered, startled by his openness. Bowing her head shamefully, she admitted, "I…I became obsessed with the Opera Ghost."

"You?" he asked, feigning surprise as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"I fell in love with his voice, that was all I knew…and then I got engaged, and things seemed to be going so well, but I let my obsession get the best of me…I had to let him go…I just hope I didn't hurt him." Looking up at him, her face turned bright red. "I'm sorry…I just thought…you're one of the managers, you must be familiar with the Ghost. I can trust you with this, and…I haven't seen the Phantom as of late, and with his temper the way it's been this past month, I thought that maybe you could relay the message to him."

"Message?"

"Please tell him that…I'm sorry. And that I wish him every happiness."

Erik's lips stretched into a smile as he stepped towards her and took her hand in his, kissing her skin. "I will be certain to do so this very day, Mademoiselle Favre…" Patting her hand, he added, "Good luck, and congratulations."

"Thank you," she beamed, excusing herself before she left.

Waiting until she was gone, Erik checked his father's old pocket watch, a silvery wonder with a crescent moon made of delicate gemstones upon the cover. "I'd best be going," he murmured to himself. Quickly, he scribbled a note down and walked over to Gerard's empty office, sticking the letter into his private drawer. With that done, he grabbed his hat, coat, gloves, and scarf before walking out of the _Garnier_, hailing a taxicab for his destination. He slipped into the vehicle, giving the driver the address before leaning back into the shadows and looking out the window, watching the people trudge through the blanket of snow that coated Paris.

Families were already starting their Christmas shopping early, carrying bags and boxes home while their children played outside, marveling at the white powder that coated the land. He could only wonder what it would be like to have children…touching his face, he shook his head. If he ever dared to have children, with would be with the knowledge that his burden, his face, would be passed on to at least one of them. He couldn't bear the thought of a child having to grow up with a face like his…still, that annoying sensation of hope kept prodding at his chest, making his wistfulness for Odette that much stronger. He had received a letter two days prior from her, asking how he was and what was happening…she missed him, she wrote. She wanted to come home to him… The note made his heart soar, but he was stubborn. He would not influence her choice anymore…

"Here we are, sir," the driver spoke, snapping him out of his trance. He paid the man before stepping out, reaching for the door when it opened at once, Christia's face rosy as she greeted him with a smile.

"Welcome, Erik! I' so glad you could make it," she beamed, motioning for him to enter. "Marguerite's been dying to see you."

"The feeling is mutual," he chuckled. He allowed her to take his hat and coat once she shut the door, hearing the patter of tiny feet nearing him.

"Monsieur Erik!" Marguerite squealed, tackling his legs.

"Goodness! I can't remember the last time I received such a welcome!" he laughed, kneeling down and taking the girl into his arms. "Hello, Princess. Shall I whisk you away to the castle?"

"Yes!" she giggled. "It's that way!" she pointed towards the stairs, grinning in delight as he set her upon his shoulders. "Maman, come and see us!"

"I shall, darling. I'll be there in a moment," she promised, watching the gentleman bear the child off as she squealed in glee. Clasping her hands over her heart, she remembered when Erik used to let her ride on his back when she was too tired to play any more…now he carried her daughter on his shoulders as though he were her own. "Oh Erik," she sighed, turning away to enter the kitchen once more. She couldn't let her servants see her in such a state, it would only cause gossip and problems when – and if – Gaspard came home. She inhaled deeply and put on her own mask, one of calm demeanor and gracious smiles, though her heart began to pound madly within her.


	22. What Has Been and Could Be Lost

**Chapter Twenty-Two – What Has Been and Could Be Lost**

"Supper was delicious, Baroness," Erik said kindly, patting his full stomach. "I don't think I'll be able to eat for at least a week after this."

Christia giggled, blushing as she accepted the compliment. "Thank you, Erik. You're too kind."

"Will you read me a bedtime story, Monsieur Erik?" Marguerite pleaded, tugging on his arm once more. "Maman always reads to me, but since you're here, could you do it?"

"If your mother consents," he smiled, facing Christia who nodded at once. "Very well. Go upstairs and get ready for bed, I'll be there shortly."

"Go with Claudette, darling," she cooed, waiting for the servant to take her daughter away before rising from the table. "Will you join me in the drawing room for tea and coffee?"

"Certainly." Thanking the servants, he walked out with her into the warm room, taking a seat on the lounge before accepting a drink from his hostess. "Your Marguerite is a charming girl."

"Thank you," she smiled, taking a seat inches away from him. "I've never seen her so enthralled by anyone…you made her day, Erik."

"Nonsense," he waved it off, though he couldn't help smiling. "She's so full of wonder and joy…and she has a huge imagination. She seems to enjoy reenacting her favorite stories."

"Yes, I'm afraid she's quite the actress," she sighed, shaking her head with a weary laugh. "She needs to have at least one person with her with she wants to play dress-up so they can be everyone that she is not pretending to be." She listened to Erik's chuckle, a musical, mysterious sound that enraptured her heart. His golden eyes twinkled in the firelight, though they held back a sadness that she could not fathom…

"Madame, Miss Marguerite is ready," the servant woman, Claudette, announced.

"Duty calls," Erik winked, following his hostess up the stairs to her daughter's room. He grinned as he saw the child tucked into bed, clutching a book to her chest. Taking a seat on one side while the mother took the opposite, he raised an eyebrow at the girl and asked, "What shall it be tonight? Dragons and knights? Monsters and mermaids?"

"_La Belle et le Bete,"_ was the happy answer, his stomach feeling as though someone had sent a powerful blow and left him breathless. "Read it, please! You be the Beast, and Maman can be Beauty!"

"_Oh, the irony."_ "Very well, Miss Marguerite." So it was with a heavy heart and a sad smile that he read her the story from the beautiful picture book with lush paintings and elegant script. As the couple finished the story, they noticed how the child yawned and slumped against the pillows, her eyelids drifting shut as she mumbled her good-night. Carefully, the two arose once more, setting the book aside and kissing her forehead before leaving the room. "Thank you for having me over," Erik said softly as they exited the girl's room and moved towards the stairs. "I truly had a wonderful time. I shall take my leave now-"

"Oh, Erik, stay a while, won't you? We didn't really get to finish our tea, and…well, I do miss talking to you," she pleaded, surprising him as she placed her hand upon his arm, quickly removing it as she blushed.

Against his better judgment, Erik nodded his consent, joining her once more by the hearth in her lavish drawing room. He accepted a new cup of tea and sipped it quietly, watching her face in the flickering glow of the firelight. "How is Gaspard these days?" he asked, hoping to withdraw the attention she had placed on him.

"He's…fine, I suppose," she shrugged. "We don't hear much from him." Forcing a smile on, she glanced over and asked, "What about your lovely ward? How is she?"

"Odette is visiting her ill father, I'm sure you've heard," he answered quietly. "I plan to bring her home from Christmas."

"Oh…how nice." She set her cup down, resentment bubbling in her veins. "…you and she seemed very…close, when I saw you months ago at the party, the one that promoted _Don Giovanni_."

Erik said nothing, uncertain as to what exactly she was trying to get at. He stiffened as she scooted closer, placing her hand over his. He raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes catching sight of the garish ring Gaspard had bought her years ago, the one that had nearly destroyed his sanity. "Baroness-"

"Erik," she said softly, looking into his eyes with such longing that it stunned him. "Please…enough with these formalities…call me by my real name, like you used to so many years ago."

"People will start getting the wrong idea," he cautioned her, his eyes widening in disbelief as she leaned in towards him, her face nearing his by the second.

"I don't care," she breathed, closing her eyes.

"Well, _I_ do."

He arose from his seat, taking several steps away from her before fixing his jacket and looking her in the eye. She blinked at him, utterly bewildered. "Erik? I…I thought that-?"

"What, _Madame_? What did you think?" he asked sternly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She winced at this, hugging her arms. "I had thought…_hoped_…that you might still care about me."

"I do, as a _friend_, of course."

Her eyes filled with tears as she felt an invisible knife pierce her heart, seeing Erik's mortified face when he was so young and heartbroken at the news of her engagement. "…is this some sort of punishment? After all these years?" she snapped, weeping silently as looked at him.

"Punishment? _Non_, you are mistaken," he shook his head. "I truly do care about you and your daughter, Christia-"

"Then why won't you kiss me?" she demanded, keeping her voice soft as so not to attract attention. "I know you always wanted to-!"

"I believe that's where you're confused," he said, his brows furrowing at her. "I don't love you as I used to. Besides, that was a long time ago…we were young and impulsive…" He walked to the fireplace, resting his arm upon the mantle. "And you're married with a child now."

"Gaspard offers me all I could ever want, but he's married to his work," she shook her head. "He's barely home…Marguerite is practically growing up without a father. He isn't what he used to be, Erik. He's distant, preoccupied…we're both so alone, and then you came into the picture…" Clasping her hands together, she fell to her knees and begged, "Please, Erik! I was wrong, so very wrong to judge you and run away like that. Don't say that you don't love me just to spite me-!"

"I don't say it to spite you, I say it because it's truth," he informed her with a tired sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Glancing at the kneeling woman, he motioned for her to get up. When she didn't budge, he told her plainly, "I love Odette Delacroix."

She stared at him, frozen in shock. "…the ward? But…but she's…she's a _child_! And you…you can't be serious! She couldn't ever feel the same for you-!"

"Why not?!" he hissed, causing her to slide back at his reaction. "Because I'm old? Because I'm hideous? She's seen my face, and she kisses it – she loves it! That 'child' is wiser beyond her years than you were at her age. She's told me she loves me…she's gone away now, but I shall see her again, and when she comes back, I'm going to make sure we belong to each other for all time!"

Erik paused, taking a moment to catch his breath when he saw how petrified she was. Inhaling deeply, he shook his head. "Look at me. Even with this handsome mask on, I still manage to instill fear in your heart." He moved towards her, offering his hand to her. Helping her up, he continued, "We made our choices long ago, Christia. It's time to forget the past and look towards the future." Straightening his jacket, he bowed to her and said, "I'll see myself out. Good night, Baroness."

He did not glance back as he exited the room, shaking his head at the approaching servant in a sign that he would help himself. He bid the butler a good night before putting on his scarf and coat, tugging his gloves on when he sensed a presence behind him. He ignored it, grabbing his hat until the figure placed her hand upon his shoulder.

"Please, Erik…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave things the way they are," Christia whispered to his back.

"Yes…I do still wish to be friends and visit the child every so often," he confessed, still not facing her as he placed his hat upon his head. "I'm sorry for my behavior."

"Erik," she pleaded, sounding like a reprimanded child. "Erik, please…don't go. Stay with me…"

He shook his head, reining in his pity. "I'd be lying to you, to myself, and to Odette if I did that."

"Erik, I still care about you," she begged, her breathing desperate and sultry all at once as she clung to his overcoat from behind and buried her face into his back. "I'm sorry…please forgive me."

"I already have," he said firmly, pulling away from her as he opened the door. "I'm sorry, too…but I don't love you, Christia." Inhaling deeply, he muttered 'good-night' once more before shutting the door after him as he stepped into the night. Lifting the collar of his coat, he quietly walked down the road, his thoughts on a girl who remained far away from him that evening, and yet lived in his heart…

**~OG~**

"I can't thank you enough," Suri sighed when Erik entered the house several days later. "Alain's caught a cold – we would have asked the others, but Gerard said that you volunteered immediately-"

"Of course, we're family, after all. I don't see enough of my nephew," Erik answered truthfully. "Besides, we wouldn't want to risk anyone else catching it."

"And yet you revel in danger of any sort," Suri rolled her green eyes though a smile appeared at once. "Well, I shouldn't be out long. Madame Couture and Berlioz are off for the day which is why they aren't here. But should you need anything-"

"I think I can manage," he smirked. "Go, run your errands and bring back the medicine. We'll be fine." He waited until she left before taking the stairs and strolling towards his nephew's room. Knocking twice, he whistled as though he were a canary, listening to the boy hack and wheeze as he called out to his uncle. Entering the room, he slipped his hand into his coat and withdrew a handsome, shining piccolo, offering it to the boys shaking hands.

"You fixed it," Alain smiled weakly, clutching his instrument. "You fix everything."

"Almost everything," Erik smiled wistfully, taking a seat beside the boy. He placed his hand on the boy's forehead, relieved to see that he was warm, but not burning. "Thank goodness it's not a fever."

"Maman says that it'll be gone before Christmas," he moaned, pulling the covers to his chin.

"I should hope so. It should be long gone before the first days of December roll around," Erik jested, pouring the boy a cup of hot tea. "Drink some of this."

"I'm tired of tea," he pouted.

"You'll be tired of being sick if you don't drink it."

In the end, Alain surrendered, accepting the cup and slowly slipping its contents. "Uncle Erik?"

"Hmm?" he asked, selecting one of Alain's books from the nearby shelf.

"When is Mademoiselle Delacroix coming back?" he asked innocently, catching Erik's reaction as he stiffened and blushed.

"I…I'm not sure. Soon, I hope," he answered quietly, continuing to peruse the novel.

"She's very beautiful," Alain smirked, sniffling as he wiped his nose clean. "And kind…and she's got a lovely voice."

"Yes."

"I suppose you both will get married one of these days," he mused.

"Ye-_what_?!" Erik yelped, his head whipping around to face his grinning, pale-faced nephew. "How-?!"

"It's obvious you love her," Alain rolled his eyes, continuing to drink his tea. "You should go after her, like the knights of old, and knock on her door and ask her to marry you, or you'll die of grief and a broken heart."

"You make it sound so simple," Erik chuckled, shaking his head. "Believe me, I would if I could, but I don't want to force her to marry me-"

"You wouldn't be forcing her. She's madly in love with you, I know. I've seen the way she looks at you whenever she came over here to have supper with us," he shrugged.

"Hmph," Erik snorted.

"It's because of her father, isn't it? You won't do it because her father's ill."

"Just how do you know about these things?" Erik asked, resting his chin upon his fist as he glanced at the sneezing boy. "Does your father tell you?"

"No…not face to face…I sometimes eavesdrop on him and mother in the study," Alain admitted sheepishly.

Erik chuckled, shaking his head. "I taught you too well…yes, her father's very ill. She needs time to be with him and see what she truly wants in this life…she's still very young. I'm so much older than her-"

"But you love each other. What's there to think about?" Alain persisted, frowning stubbornly.

"I'm afraid you're too romantic to be your father's son, Alain. You must have gotten that from me these past few years," Erik winked, earning a smile from the boy.

The smile faded as he reached out and touched Erik's hand, squeezing it tightly before he pleaded, "Don't let her go, Uncle. If you really love her, go after her."

Gerard's words echoed in his mind, and with the recent events of Christia's desperate confession, he nodded, agreeing with him at last. "I've already thought of it. Come the first week of December, I'm going to bring her back, if she'll have me."

Alain smiled again in approval, sinking back into the comfy bed and closing his eyes. Erik released the boy's hand, stroking his chin in contemplation as he thought of his beloved. Perhaps he should go even sooner to see her…

**~OG~**

_December, 1921_

Slowly, the two women trudged their way back to the tiny, empty, cold cabin as the sun began to set beyond the grey horizon. It had been the two of them and the priest at the sad, quiet funeral, watching the box get lowered into the ground beside the other two graves that belonged to the Delacroix family. The elder spoke softly, patting the girl's hand as they entered the house, promising to make a cup of tea.

"Now then, what about the house? And all this?" she motioned to it with her hands. "You say you want me to sell it all, Odette?"

"Yes, Pauline." Odette sat before the fire, tossing in another log before blinking at the flames with her weary, red eyes. "There's nothing for me here…I'm going home, to Erik."

Yes, she had wept for her father, the ungrateful, drunken wretch that no one cared for anymore, but she was done mourning for him. He was gone, and had been teetering over the edge for some time now. He was with her mother now, and her brother…she was all that was left, and she was not going to stay alone anymore.

"Ah yes, your dear Erik," Pauline winked, putting a kettle of water on the stove. "Strange how he never tries to contact you."

"I feel as though he didn't want to get between me and Papa…what little time we had left," she shrugged. "He never wanted to impose himself on me…it's really the other way around, I'm afraid."

The old neighbor laughed at this, shaking her head. "What's this world coming to?" Taking a seat beside the girl, she embraced her tightly. "I'll miss you, dear, but I'm very glad for you. I expect you'll be getting married soon enou-…d'you hear that?" Pauline's forehead wrinkled as she listened intently, hearing the sound of a roaring engine coming closer and closer until it screeched to a halt outside the house. "Heavens!" she exclaimed. "What on earth is that?!"

The two women arose from the hearth and hurried outside, nearly running into a red-haired man with frantic eyes. "Odette!" he exclaimed, relieved to find her, his hands gripping her arms.

"Eddie?! What's going on?" she asked, shocked to find him in the outskirts of Rouen. "What's the matter-?!"

"It's Erik – he's got a terrible fever! We thought it was a cold at first, but then he kept going out and there's been trouble at the Opera, and-!" Eddie spoke in ribbons, never stopping except to quickly catch his breath and continue.

"Is he all right?!" she demanded.

"I think he'll make it, but he's been having nightmares and starts thinking they're real…we're afraid if you don't come back that he…he might…" He slowed down, his eyes showing all the concern everyone back in Paris held for Erik.

Fear gripped her heart as she took his hand and ran back to the automobile.

"Odette! What about your belongings?!" Pauline called after her.

"Mail them to me, please! I'll contact you once I get to Paris and check on Erik, I promise!" Odette called back, not wanting to waste a single second. "Hurry, Eddie! Please hurry!" she pleaded, grabbing onto his arm as he gunned the engine and made a sharp turn before racing back the way he came. Her heart pounded madly in her chest as she prayed, _"Dear God, don't let him die! Please don't let him die!"_


	23. Return to the Heart

**Chapter Twenty-Three – Return to the Heart**

"What happened?!" Odette demanded as they raced through the countryside back to Paris, still grabbing onto Eddie's arm for security and support.

"It all happened so quickly this past week," he gasped, finally starting to breathe normally after bursting into the scene like a whirlwind. "About a week ago, Erik went to watch over Alain – he'd caught a cold, you see. But once Suri got home, there was trouble at the _Garnier_…"

* * *

_Erik arose from his seat upon hearing the door slam, Suri's voice rising frantically as she called out to them. He coughed, feeling a bothersome, tickling sensation in his throat as he left his sleeping nephew. "Damn," he muttered. He certainly hoped he hadn't picked up Alain's cold in the short time he had been there. It was barely five o'clock in the afternoon, and he had an important matter to attend that evening…he couldn't be sick when he greeted his guest. Arriving at the first floor, he motioned for his sister-in-law to lower her voice. "What is it? What's all the fuss about-?"_

"_The Opera House!" she hissed. "I just passed by. There are flames coming out from behind where the stables are located. It looks as if it's caught on fire-!" She yelped as he flew past her, forgetting his coat and hat as he hurried out to his beloved Opera._

_Erik ignored the biting cold as he ran out into the snowy streets, the wind picking up dangerously around him. There was no way he was going to let the _Palais Garnier_ – his father's own work and beloved resting place – go up in smoke. He forced his body to move faster as he stumbled towards the building, catching sight of the rising flames. Already, he could hear the fire brigade several streets away. His determination remained steadfast as he slid onward and arrived at last at the burning stables._

"_The horses," he gasped, hearing the frightened animals whinny in panic. A voice cried out from within the building, feeble and strained. Someone else was stuck there. Already, members of the Opera were hurrying out to see what was going on. _"Good, it hasn't spread to the rest of the building,"_ Erik noted, taking his jacket off before daring to step inside the furnace, dodging and slipping about in order to get to the stalls. Opening the doors, he slapped the grand animals on their rumps, knowing it would startle and encourage them to run out. They would have to catch them later, but at least they would live._

"_Monsieur!" the strangled voice called out once Erik had freed the last beast. "Monsieur…please, help me!"_

_Erik shouldered a smoldering beam away, coughing harder than he had moments before. The tickling sensation in his throat had become stronger due to the heat, ashes, and smoke that filled the area. He could hear people shouting outside, one of the predominant voices belonging to his elder brother. He would have to hurry before the roof fell down, or the fire brigade started to pour water on the flames, which would make it worse before it got better. He recognized the old man almost instantly – the horse trainer, Andre, was coughing violently as he lay on the floor, his leg trapped under debris from the flames while the body of his assistant, Noel, lay still beside him. Both were elders, their hair grey and their skin sagging from old age, but only one of them looked alive._

"_What happened?" Erik demanded, lifting the wood off of his leg, noticing in relief that it was not injured._

"_I left Noel with the horses…I came back and the place was in flames while he lay still…He was holding an old lantern, must have thought he could use it but he probably dropped it when he passed on…it must have been his lungs. They'd been giving him some trouble-" He coughed harshly, a blast of hot, thick air surrounding them at once, making it difficult to breathe. Erik hefted him up, placing one arm around him while he slung Andre's arm over his shoulders. _

"_Hang on to me," he ordered, yanking him out before the back collapsed. He shouted to the fire brigade members that had begun to check the entrance, quickly earning their attention and support. The men helped him and the old man out before the signal was given to put out the fire before further damage was caused._

"_Erik, are you mad?!" Gerard fumed, grabbing his brother's shoulders only to let go as Erik coughed, wincing at the pain in his throat and lungs. "What happened?"_

"_An accident…I'll explain later," he said, clearing his throat before waving off one of the brigade members in assurance that he was well. "I'd kill for a glass of water."_

"_Don't even joke," Gerard shook his head. He raised an eyebrow, glaring at him accusingly. "Where's your coat? Or jacket for that matter?"_

"_Forgot them," he choked, shaking his head at his brother before rising, the biting cold setting in once more. His body shook with shock as the heat left at once and the December air took hold of him. Several of the stagehands ran forth with buckets of water to help, sloshing some onto the two owners._

"_Watch it!" snapped Gerard, shaking his head. "Erik, we need to get you back inside. They've got it handled now."_

"_I can't," Erik shook his head. "I have to meet someone at the Bellamy Blanc Hotel."_

"_Why on earth do you need to have a meeting in a hotel for?" his brother asked, raising an eyebrow at him once more._

"_That's for me to know and you to find out," he smirked, though his body was shaking. "But first, I need to stop by your house…I left my coat." He left despite Gerard's protests, running back in an effort to keep himself warm in the harsh weather, the temperature dropping significantly as night began to fall. Suri insisted that he come inside and warm up, but he refused, worried that he might lose his guest. He left immediately, taking a cab to the hotel. He shook his head at the bellboy when he entered, keeping his coat on before reaching the desk and stating his business. They showed him into their smoking room and gave him a seat, informing him that his friend would be down shortly. Erik pulled out a handkerchief and held his breath, hoping he wouldn't have to wait long. Usually the smell of cigarettes and smoldering cigars didn't bother him, but this evening was turning out to be a disaster. _

_Just as he arose in a decision to leave and wait outside, he heard the concierge introduce him to his friend._

"_Baron, the Vicomte de Chevalier," the middle-aged man said crisply, bowing before he excused himself._

_Turning around, Erik hid his kerchief and held his head up, his golden eyes meeting Gaspard's dark brown orbs. "Erik?" Gaspard blinked, his eyes widening. They narrowed just as quickly, his lips curling into a snarl. "What's the meaning of all this?! _You_ were the one to contact me on a matter of great importance? You do realize I have affairs to handle that reach all the way to Moscow-?"_

"_Do you truly think so little of your family?" Erik sniffed, partially in defiance and partially because his nose was starting to drip. It was most unsightly, but he didn't dare to pull out his hanky just yet. "Christia was right – you don't see them at all anymore, nor does it seem you care."_

"_You spoke with Christia?" Gaspard asked, his eyes widening once more in surprise._

"_Of course I saw her," Erik scoffed, hiding a cough as an indignant huff. "I also saw your charming daughter, Marguerite. When was the last time you saw her? April? She's growing rapidly. She hardly knows she has a father," he added coolly, checking his pocket watch. The smoke was starting to irritate him so much that he could scarcely think straight. _"Focus…focus!"

"_What are you saying, Erik?" Gaspard asked, his iciness breaking._

"_I'm saying you're losing everything that matters in this life. You work hard to bring food to the table, I understand that, but your lineage affords you a generous amount of wealth to take holidays every so often…I suggest you take the month off to reconnect with them before it's too late and you lose them both."_

"_What do _you_ know about family, Erik?" he frowned. "You're not married and don't have children…why do you care so much about what happens to my family?"_

"_I because you _do_ have it, Gaspard," he sighed, starting to feel dizzy. "I see what you have and what you're turning into…you're letting your success and work run your life. It'll be too late before you realize what's happened. Your daughter won't know about you or care, and your wife is alone and scared, not of any harm but of losing the man she loves, the man she married…" He coughed, his hand moving to his throat as he started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. A groan of annoyance escaped him, and suddenly, he felt Gaspard's hands on his shoulders._

"_Erik, are you all right?" Erik couldn't see him, but he heard Gaspard's voice was tinted with concern. His feet and legs were wet and numb, his throat and chest burned, and he felt like slipping into a sea of blankets and curling up into a ball until he vanished. He saw Odette's face, worry and panic filling him. She couldn't see him like this…but she wasn't here, was she? She'd gone…she hadn't come back yet…He felt his strength evaporate and his legs gave out from under him as he was sucked into an emotionless black void, falling deeper and deeper…_

* * *

Odette listened intently as Eddie finished what Gaspard had told them of the encounter, bringing Erik to his house, where Gerard and Eddie had waited and helped him bring their friend inside. They had assumed it was a cold at first, as it couldn't have been the influenza or pneumonia, but it got progressively worse, and his body became as hot as the flames that had nearly consumed the Opera House stables. He kept whimpering about how cold he was, how dark and alone he would always be, and it frightened them. It raged on for days, nearly a week, thrusting Eddie forth to take some action.

"I came as fast as I could…I'm so sorry about your father, Odette, truly, and I wouldn't have asked you to come if it wasn't important but-!"

"Thank you, Eddie," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "I never would have forgiven myself if you had come and I'd have brushed you off. I just hope…" She bit her lip, her eyes stinging with worry as the icy air and snow swirled around them.

"He'll make it," Eddie promised, never slowing his speed as he caught sight of the city limits. "Now that you're here, he will."

**~OG~**

It was dark, so very dark, and cold.

He was numb, and stiff…everything passed by and through him, making him feel as though he were transparent, worthless. His skin was hot as coals, but he felt as though he were full of ice from within…he could voices, harsh whispers that taunted him over and over…there were flashes of sinister, crescent shaped smiles that would vanish and reappear before him, hurtful words floating past their invisible lips.

"_He's a murderer, like his father before him."_

"_And a monster…a hideous, despicable monster."_

"_He'll never be wanted…he can never be loved."_

"_That girl, Odette, she was right to leave."_

"_Yes, before it was too late. Otherwise, she would have been trapped with him…forever."_

"_To think that she could ever love him…what a jest!"_

Malice and deceit struck him like needles, but he could not scream against. He wanted to silence them all, he wanted to strike back, but his body was weak…and he was so alone…The teasing image of the beautiful, selfless young woman danced across his mind, making hot tears stream down his face. It took all his strength to reach out and try, just try, to touch the hem of her skirt…

And suddenly, he felt it.

She knelt down and took his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips and kissing it gently, sending sweet sensations down into his skin, a relieved moan escaping him. He wanted to speak, wanted to say her name to make sure she was really there, but his tongue was lead, his throat dry. _"Odette…Odette…"_ he mouthed, feeling her arms encircle him in a comforting embrace.

"_I'm here, Erik…I'm home,"_ she answered, kissing his temple. _"Please, Erik, come back to me…"_

**~OG~**

For days, there was no sign of progress. Yet, she remained by his side, nursing him. She wiped his brow and tucked him in, held his head up to pour portions of water down his throat. She read to him, sang to him, spoke to him, prayed for him…she did all that she could, never losing hope, crying when no one was around to see…

…and then, he opened his eyes.

"Erik?"

Her voice was like a sweet, spoken nectar to him, pure music, like a violin's note, delicate and mournful. She sounded as though she had been crying, but that couldn't be possible…

"Erik, please say something!" she begged, her face slowly coming into view. Her emerald orbs were filled to the brim with tears, but he couldn't tell if they were full of relief or grief at the sight of him. He could feel her small, warm hands squeeze one of his own as he drank in the sight of the ebony-haired angel at his bedside.

"…Odette?" he gasped for air, wondering if this was just another cruel vision. His heart broke as she smiled and sobbed all at once, his chest swelling with painful, delighted ecstasy as she bent down and kissed his exposed, ghastly cheek. Her lips were like velvet against his skin, perfect in every way imaginable.

"Oh, Erik! Oh, my darling angel!" she wept, resting her head upon his chest. "You're going to be all right…you're going to be fine!" She was shaking violently as she cried, and he hurt him to see her in such agony. He murmured her name over and over again with his weakened voice, stroking her wonderfully soft curls until he drifted off once more into a blissful rest.

When he opened his eyes once again, he groaned, feeling sore and stiff, and much too hot for his liking. Seeing the pile of thick comforters and quilts stacked on his body, he growled in disgust and tried to knock them off when a hand stopped him.

"Ah-ah. Your fever may have broken, but you're still supposed to get plenty of bed rest and sweat some more before you can get up and do what you like. Doc's orders," the smooth, chuckling voice of his brother-in-law drifted over him.

Raising his eyes, he heaved a sigh of relief to see Eddie's freckled face grinning down at him. "Ed…what happened…?"

"You caught a fever. You've been in bed nearly two weeks, Erik. We were beginning to think you wouldn't make it. Everyone's been worried sick about you, especially Odette-"

"Odette?" Erik echoed, his eyes scanning the room. "Where-?!"

"Easy," Eddie coaxed him, gently pressing Erik's back against the pillows while he took a seat at the chair set beside the bed. "She's been sitting here, keeping watch over you for over a week. I brought her back from Rouen – she practically dragged me into the car to come back when she found out about you."

"She did?" he asked weakly, a faint smile growing on his lips.

"Yes," he laughed merrily. "I told her to wash up and relax a while. She barely sleeps or eats, she just wants to watch over you…it's been her, me, Gerry, and Gaspard these past few days. We won't let the girls or kids come in though, sorry. We can't risk them getting sick. The doc said it should have been just a cold, but you were battling with yourself – some inner secret conflict or something – and it transformed the cold into a fever. Lucky you didn't catch pneumonia or some stray version of the influenza…sorry, I'm rambling," he shrugged. "It's been so long since you've been awake…I'm just really glad to see you're all right."

Erik's mind swirled with questions, but the more he thought about them, the more exhausted he became. All he wanted to do at this point was see his beloved again.

"Eddie? Is Erik awake?"

The sound of her voice made his head snap over at once, his golden eyes locking with her green ones. "Odette," he whispered, reaching out with one hand.

"Erik!" she cried, running to his bedside and embracing him, kissing his face fervently.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, y'know, with him being sick and all," Eddie smirked. He bit back a laugh when the two ignored him and Odette pecked his lips. "Ok, I get the message," he said, raising his hands in surrender before walking out of the room and shutting the door after him.

"Erik…oh Erik, I love you!" she murmured, burying her face into his shoulder. She had climbed onto the bed and now rested beside him, sharing her warmth with him.

He just held her a while, relieved to have her back in his arms, in his home. "…you came back."

"Of course I came back, Erik! I wish I could have come sooner…I can't help but feel like this is all my fault," she said, her eyes stinging with more tears.

"No…no, _mon Belle_," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "Your father needed you…he's…" He stopped, his brows furrowing. "What happened to you father? Has he gotten better?"

Odette turned onto her side to face him, shaking her head, her eyes red from crying so much. "…Papa's dead, Erik. The day of his funeral was the day Eddie arrived to collect me, saying you were deathly ill." Embracing him, she spoke softly, her voice muffled by the blankets. "I lost Papa, but I had lost him a long time ago when my brother died…so while his passing hurt, it wasn't agonizing or frightening to me…the thought of losing you, though, was." She kissed his face tenderly, her tears sliding down her face and dropping onto his. "I realized I don't want to be trapped in a place that hold no happiness and love for me...I was so scared when Eddie came, I thought I was going to lose you forever. You've shown me happiness, laughter, wonder, music, love…I can't live without you, Erik."

His own eyes filled with tears as he listened to her, pressing his lips to her cheek. "Nor I you…I love you, Odette."

"I love you, Erik…_mon Ange_."

They remained that way, lying in each other's arms, saying nothing until they both drifted off to sleep, finally content and feeling safe.

**~OG~**

_December 20, 1921_

_Palais Garnier, Paris_

"Erik, what's all this about?" Odette asked, raising an eyebrow as she let Erik lead her away through the secret passages until he came to a door.

"You'll see," he smirked, already back to his mysterious self. He had recovered remarkably well, much to the doctor's utter shock. Once Erik had broken his fever and seen that his beloved had come home to be with him, he regained his strength each and every day, eager to get out of bed and back to business. He had profusely thanked his brothers and childhood friend, relieved to find that Gaspard had indeed taken his advice and gone home to his family, taking a holiday from his grueling work.

The door opened, and there before them stood a beautiful snowy scene. A blanket had been laid out over the snow, right under the great bronze statue of Apollo and his beautiful lyre, with candles and roses surrounding the shimmering blood-red cloth.

"Oh, Erik!" Odette gasped, her cheeks becoming that familiar and pleasant shade of pink he so enjoyed. "It's beautiful!" She accepted his arm and let him lead her to the little nook. It had been an exciting day for her, having gone to bake cookies with Marguerite and all of Erik's nephews and nieces, and enjoying the performance of _Giselle_ put on by the _Garnier's_ company, and now this. "What's going on?" she asked, taking a seat beside him as he positioned himself before her, kneeling as he kept his curled fist upon his leg.

"Odette…you know I love you," he said sincerely, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "I want to spend the rest of my days with you…but I want to do it right…so…"

"Oh!" she cried, her free hand flying to cover her mouth as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened, filling with tears.

Holding the shining ring in his fingers, he offered it to her, his voice gentle and pleading. "Odette Delacroix…will you marry me?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed without hesitation. "Oh Erik, yes!" She attacked him with an embrace, claiming his mouth and running her fingers through his hair. He answered with as much passion, pulling her close against him so that he could feel her pounding heartbeat. When at last they pulled back, he slipped the ring with a shaky hand onto the proper finger. "Oh…just look at it!" she whispered, admiring how it glistened in the candlelight. Beaming at him, kissed his cheek and rested her head upon his shoulder. "Thank you, Erik…this is the best present I've ever been given."

"The feeling is mutual," he murmured, holding her close. Biting his tongue, he knew that the matter couldn't be avoided, so it was the he forced it out of his mouth. "…Odette…since we are to be married, I want to know how you feel about…"

"About…?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"…children."

Her blush intensified as she looked away. "Oh…children…well, what exactly…that is, what is it that-?"

"If you don't want children, I understand," he said coolly, motioning towards his face. She frowned at him, making him confused. "If they were to look like me-"

"We would love them no matter what," she insisted stubbornly. "Surely, if your mother could love your father and love you no matter what, and I already love you, then why shouldn't I love a child of ours even if he or she _does_ have that kind of face?!"

A smile stretched onto his lips despite himself as he listened to her. "And there's always the masks, I suppose."

"Well yes, the child or children could wear masks in public, but they shouldn't be confined to them," she shrugged, sounding so mature suddenly. "Really, Erik, I don't see why you're so worried."

"I want my children to have a good life, one free of persecution and judgment…so I wanted to be sure that this was what you wanted before anything were to…erm, happen," he said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

She blushed once more, understanding what he meant. "Oh…of course." An undignified giggle escaped her as she shook her head. "Why wouldn't I want anything to happen?" Her blush became cherry red as she realized how improper that was, but when she opened her mouth to apologize, she mouth that it was preoccupied with Erik's, who was suddenly kissing her with unbridled passion, his tongue sliding over her lips before slipping inside and dancing with hers. The hairs on her body stood up pleasantly as they were both warmed by one another's presence, their bodies soon entwined as they held on to each other desperately.

"No," Erik gasped, pulling away. "No, Odette…I'll get carried away and…well, you know. We ought to wait. I'm sorry."

"I'm not," she murmured, still blushing. She shivered at the sound of his dark laughter, feeling his arms snake around her as his breath was on her ear.

"You should be careful with what you say…now that I know you'll be mine always, I won't be as strong as I used to be…"

"Is that a promise?" she asked, trying to sound coy rather than swoon in his embrace. He was making it very difficult to be in control. "Erik…when did you say your birthday was? April?"

"Hmm," he murmured, nuzzling her neck before burying his nose in her hair.

"We should be married on your birthday," she suggested, a smile coming onto her face. "Wouldn't you like that?"

"Oh yes, you little minx," he laughed. "I'd love to unwrap and ravish you on my birthday…what a treat that would be."

"Then it's settled," she smirked, enjoying the look of confusion on his face.

"You were being serious?"

"Why not? What better way to show I love you?" she said, placing a tender kiss on his lips. "Couldn't we, Erik? Please?"

He smiled, unable to resist her innocent charms. "Very well…as you wish."


	24. Author's Note and Update

**Author's Note** _(9/7/14):_ Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for the long wait, however, I've been swamped with other business. I'm working/school-going and for the moment I am occupied with this, however, I haven't forgotten the story. I know what I want to do with it and how it ends, and I even have plans and outlines for a third and final installment, but for the time being, I ask that you be patient. I want to thank you all for being so supportive and invested in my work and I hope that it doesn't disappoint. Best wishes to everyone - let's pray and hope that for the next big vacation so that I might be able to crank out another chapter or two ;) Until next time!


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